•••••••••••^•••1 


&  Jf  /^  r"*  r"*  ¥""  nT*1""!"* 

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J        T       •     Xr«i5P         *  E  R<r«*  ft  »' 


THE 
LAND  OF  MYSTERY 


UNIT.  Of  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


The    Strangest    Spot   on    Earth. 


THE 
LAND   OF  MYSTERY 


BY 

CLEVELAND  MOFFETT 

Author  of  "Careers  of  Danger  and  Daring,"  "  Through 
the  Wall,"  "The  Battle,"  etc. 


IVith  sixty-nine  illustrations 
from  paintings  and  photographs 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1913 


Copyright,  1912,  1913,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published,  October, 


TO  MY  WIFE 

A  SOUVENIR  OF  OUR  WONDERFUL 

HORSEBACK  RIDE  FROM 

JERUSALEM  TO 

DAMASCUS 


2131601 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

i  A   HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

ii  FACING    THE    DRAGON 

in  THE   THIRD    CHAMBER 

iv  JACK    MCGREGGOR'S    STORY    . 

v  THE  STOLEN  PURSE    .... 

vi  THE  STORM  BREAKS     .... 

vii  THROUGH    THE    ROCK 

viii  THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE    .... 

ix  THE   TWISTED   EAR     .... 

x  THE  HOLY  CITY 

xi  UNDER  THE   DOME      .... 

xii  THE  QUARRIES  AT  JERUSALEM 

xiii  THE  TICKING  OF  A  WATCH    . 

xiv  "Tine  CASK  OE  AMONTILLADO"    . 

xv  THE  HOLY  SEI>ULCHER 

xvi  THE   RED   DOOR 

xvii  THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

xvin  THE   MOUNTAINS   OF   JUDATI 

xix  BEDOUIN   TENTS 

xx  MAR   SARA   AT   NIGHT 

xxi  THE  Tix  BUCKET       .... 

xxn  RUNAWAY  KITES 


PAGE 

3 

19 

26 
42 

55 
68 

79 

84 

98 

114 

132 

144 

151 

167 

182 

195 

217 

235 
249 
259 
269 
278 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

xxin     THE  ESCAPE      .... 
OVER  THE  GULF 


XXIV 

xxv 

XXVI 

XXVII 

XXVIII 

XXIX 

XXX 


PAGE 

291 

300 

THE  RING 307 

BLACK    EAGLES 319. 

THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 335 

A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EVES 357 

IN  DAMASCUS 374 

THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 388 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  strangest  spot  on  Earth  ....  Frontispiece 

Pyramids  and  the  desert 4 

North  face  of  the  Great  Pyramid,  showing  the 

entrance 21 

View  of  the  Great  Gallery  of  the  Great  Pyramid  .  32 

Harold  stood  staring  like  one  in  a  trance  ....  37 

A  view  of  Cairo  from  outside  the  walls  ....  43 

Boys  in  Cairo 53 

A  street  in  Cairo 60 

"One !  two !  three  !"  counted  McGreggor,  slowly  .  65 

Jereed  play 73 

A  Nile  ferry-boat 86 

Egyptian  woman  wearing  brass  nose-piece  ...  87 

The  obelisk  at  Heliopolis — the  oldest  in  the  world  .  90 

The  port  of  Jaffa  at  low  tide 104 

The  landing  at  Jaffa 108 

Syrian  woman  bearing  water  jar in 

Outside  the  wall  of  Jerusalem 117 

Underground  street  in  Jerusalem 119 

The  Golden  Gate,  Jerusalem 120 

Street  scene  in  Jerusalem 122 

A  Turk  from  Damascus 123 

A  peasant  from  Bethlehem 126 

The  wickedest  man  in  Jerusalem 130 

The  Mosque  of  Omar  (Drawing  by  Jules  Guerin)  .  136 
View  of  Jerusalem.  The  dome  of  the  Mosque  of 

Omar  in  the  center  of  the  picture  ....  138 

The  great  rock  under  the  dome 140 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  boys  peered  anxiously  through  the  shadows  .      .165 
Entrance  to  quarries  near  Damascus  gate  ....    168 

The  Damascus  gate 169 

Crowd  of  pilgrims  at  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher. 

Foot  washing  ceremony 185 

Turkish  guardian  of  Holy  Sepulcher  locking  doors  .    187 

Franciscan  in  Garden  of  Gethsemane 189 

Rachel's  Tomb 197 

A  distant  view  of  Bethlehem 198 

"I  want  to  know  about  that  building.     See?     The 

one  with  the  white  dome." 201 

A  Bethlehem  girl 203 

A  group  of  Xeibecks 208 

"Don't  touch  me!"  said  Harold.     "I  'm  an  American 

citizen" 214 

Peasants  approaching  Bethlehem  at  night       .      .      .   220 
They  listened  with  absorbed  interest  to  Basil's  con 
fession      222 

Crowd  of  pilgrims  in  Bethlehem 233 

The  scorpion-killer  at  work 241 

Street  in  Jerusalem 243 

Along  this  road  came  other  wayfarers 246 

A  stately  camel  with  a  Bedouin  rider 247 

It  was  the  Bedouin  chief,  waiting 253 

Evening  in  a  Bedouin  tent 256 

"What  happened?     What  went  wrong?"  demanded 

Harold 260 

A  huge,  silver-tipped  eagle  circled  around  the  kite     .    281 

How  Harold's  leap  worked  out 301 

The  missionary  swayed  in  his  saddle,  and  would  have 

fallen  to  the  ground 308 

Harold  sprang  to  the  officer's  side  in  one  last  desper 
ate  appeal 317 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

One  of  the  thatched  mud  houses 326 

Typical  Syrian  village,  showing  rnud  houses  and 

minaret  of  mosque 327 

Nazareth  mother  carrying  baby  on  her  back  .  .  .  340 

Nazareth  boys  racing  for  prize 341 

The  Lake  of  Galilee 343 

Pilgrims  fording  the  Jordan 344 

Zahra  and  her  father 363 

Speeding  to  Damascus  on  a  swift  camel  ....  367 

Pilgrims  praying  at  shrine 369 

Threshing  grain  as  in  Bible  times 379 

A  distant  view  of  Damascus,  Turkish  cemetery  in 

foreground 382 

Narrow  street  in  Damascus 385 

Turkish  cavalry 392 

Arrival  of  the  Emperor 393 

Flat  Roofs  of  Turkish  houses 399 

Deeny  lowers  Harold  over  the  wall 400 

A  rich  house  in  Damascus 402 

Harold  meets  the  Emperor 408 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

CHAPTER  I 

A  HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

THROUGH  the  purple  stillness  of  the  night, 
in  the  strangest  spot  on  earth,  a  boy  of 
sixteen  and  his  mother  sat  on  a  ledge  of  gray 
ish  brown  stone,  watching  the  August  moon 
as  it  sank  redder  and  redder  through  a  bank 
of  early  morning  mist,  there  on  the  far  hori 
zon  where  the  sea  of  sand  met  the  sky.  This 
ledge  of  stone,  the  lowest  step  of  the  Great  Pyra 
mid,  was  about  as  high  as  a  dining-room  table, 
and  as  long  as  two  city  blocks.  It  was  hewn 
perfectly  flat,  top  and  side,  save  where  the  stone 
had  crumbled.  Two  or  three  feet  back  of  this 
ledge,  rose  the  second  step,  exactly  like  the  first, 
but  a  little  shorter  in  length.  And  back  of  this 
rose  another  step,  and  then  another,  scores  and 
scores  of  steps,  tiering  away  upward  in  a  huge 
mass  that  narrowed  and  narrowed,  until,  far  up 

3 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

against  the  velvet  stars,  it  came  to  a  dull  point. 
This  point,  higher  than  the  highest  church 
steeple,  was  the  meeting-place  of  the  four  steep, 
stone  hills  of  steps  that  form  the  four  faces  of 
this  wonderful  pyramid. 

"Mother,  look!"  cried  the  boy,  and  he  pointed 


Pyramids  and  the  desert. 

up  to  a  band  of  opalescent  color  that  had  sud 
denly  settled,  like  a  flashing  jewel,  upon  the  top 
most  tip  of  the  world-famous  tomb  of  Cheops. 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  the  woman,  softly.  "It 's  the 
dawn.  I  want  you  to  remember  this  as  long  as 
you  live,  Harold.  There  are  n't  many  American 
boys  who  can  say  that  they  have  sat  at  the  foot 
of  the  Great  Pyramid  and  watched  the  moon  set 

4 


A  HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

and  the  sun  rise.     Look  there — toward  Cairo!" 

She  rose  and  turned  to  the  east,  where  the  deli 
cate  pink  and  purple  tints  of  breaking  day  formed 
an  exquisite  background  to  the  white  domes  and 
minarets  of  the  distant  city. 

"Is  n't  it  beautiful !  Is  n't  it  wonderful !"  Mrs. 
Evans  murmured,  and  her  face  shone  transfig 
ured.  It  was  a  face  w^herein  was  blended,  with  a 
high-bred  American  beauty,  that  strength  and 
nobility  of  soul  that  comes  through  fine, 
womanly  achievement,  and  suffering  bravely  en 
dured. 

"Tell  you  what  we  ought  to  do,  Mumsy,"  sug 
gested  the  boy  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone.  "If 
you  '11  let  me  boost  you  up  a  few  steps,  we  '11  get 
a  corking  view  of  good  old  Egypt  and  the  good 
old  river  Nile,  'drink  her  down,  down,  down/ 
Only  she  looks  awfully  muddy  to  drink." 

"Harold,  have  you  no  reverence?"  sighed  the 
lady. 

"Excuse  me,  Mother.  You  see,  I  'm  so  glad  to 
be  off  that  wobbly  steamer.  Um-m !  It 's  good 
to  be  on  solid  earth  again !  Besides,  I  never  met 
a  pyramid  before."  He  laid  his  arm  playfully  on 
her  shoulder.  "I  never  met  a  pyramid,  Mumsy, 
at  four  in  the  morning,  and — no  breakfast,  and— 
I  don't  know  the  right  line  of  talk." 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Mrs.  Evans  smiled  as  she  met  the  gleam  in  her 
son's  dancing  gray  eyes. 

"Shall  I  be  heroic?  Shall  I  be  the  great  Na 
poleon?  Shall  I,  Mumsy?" 

With  an  agile  leap,  Harold  sprang  to  the  step 
above,  and  struck  an  attitude.  "  'Soldiers  of  the 
Imperial  Guard !'  "  he  declaimed.  "  'Remember 
that  forty  centuries  are  looking  down  on  you, 
and' — and  keep  your  hair  on !  Am  I  great, 
Mumsy?  Am  I?" 

"You  're  a  great  monkey !"  she  said ;  and  then, 
more  seriously,  "Sit  down,  dear.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

Harold's  quick  ear  caught  the  change  in  his 
mother's  tone,  and  he  came  to  her  side  in  half- 
alarm,  his  antics  all  forgotten. 

"What  is  it,  little  Mother?  Tell  me."  He 
took  her  slender  hand  in  his,  and  patted  it  fondly. 
"You  seem  sort  of — sort  of  sad." 

And  now,  suddenly,  began  the  most  momen 
tous  hour  in  Harold  Evans's  life,  the  hour  that 
changed  him,  one  might  say,  from  a  boy  to  a 
man. 

Some  camels  with  swarthy  drivers  lurched 
across  the  sandy  way,  but  he  barely  noticed  them. 
An  Arab  boy  with  harsh  cries  led  a  flock  of  goats 
to  a  well  under  neighboring  palm-trees,  but  the 

6 


young  American  did  not  see  them.  The  sun,  in 
incredible  glory  and  mystery,  crept  up  over  the 
parched  plain,  over  the  rolling  yellow  waste  of 
Sahara,  but  Harold  scarcely  turned  to  marvel,  so 
absorbed  was  he  in  the  startling  story  that  his 
mother  was  telling  him. 

"My  son,"  she  began,  "I  know  you  have  won 
dered  why  I  sent  for  you  to  come  over  here,  all 
the  way  from  America.  I  know  you  did  not  want 
to  come.  You  thought  it  foolish." 

"Not  exactly  foolish,  Mother,"  put  in  the  boy, 
"but,  of  course,  I  know  we  have  n't  very  much 
money — that  was  one  of  the  things  Father  told 
me  last  year  when  he  took  me  back  to  America, 
that  a  missionary  doctor  did  n't  exactly  abound  in 
this  world's  goods,  and  that  I  must  keep  down  my 
school  expenses  as  much  as  I  could.  Besides,  I 
thought  you  were  coming  back  to  America  to  be 
with  me.  I  thought  you  decided  that,  Mumsy, 
after  Father — died."  He  dropped  his  voice  as 
he  spoke  the  last  word. 

"I  know,  dear,  that 's  what  I  wrote  you ;  that  's 
what  I  meant  to  do,  but — there  's  something  I 
have  n't  told  you,  Harold,  about  your  father. 
It 's  not  bad  news,  my  boy,  it 's  good  news,  blessed 
news ;  but  I  could  not  write  it.  I  dared  not,  and 
if  it 's  true,  you  '11  see  why  I  could  not  go  to 

7 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

America,    and   why   it   was   necessary  that   you 
should  come  here." 

Her  voice  was  broken  with  emotion. 

"Go  on,"  he  said.  "Please  go  on.  We  Ve  got 
to  face  this  thing  together,  whatever  it  is." 

"Ah,  there  is  my  boy!"  the  mother  cried  hap 
pily.  "Yes,  indeed,  dear,  we  will  face  it  together. 
We  are  everything  to  each  other,  aren't  we? 
And  this  is  a  big  thing  to  face — such  a  wonder 
fully  big  thing  that — "  she  paused  as  if  afraid  to 
continue. 

The  boy  stared  in  half-understanding. 

"Mother!  You  don't  mean — you  can't  mean 
— "  he  stammered. 

She  turned  to  him  with  radiant  eyes. 

"My  son,  your  father  is  not  dead." 

"Not  dead !"  he  cried. 

Harold's  mind  flashed  back  to  that  morning  at 
St.  Paul's  school  about  a  year  before,  when  the 
terrible  cable  had  come,  forwarded  from  Con 
stantinople.  His  father,  his  brave  father,  who 
had  given  his  whole  life  to  helping  others,  had 
been  killed  on  his  return  journey  from  America, 
killed  mysteriously  in  this  ancient  land  of  Egypt, 
perhaps  by  fierce  tribesmen  in  the  desert.  And 
now  his  mother  said  that  this  was  not  true.  His 
father  had  not  been  killed ! 

8 


A  HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

"Mother,  tell  me !"  begged  the  boy.  "Tell  me 
everything." 

Then,  in  low  words,  she  told  him,  and,  as 
Harold  listened,  he  bit  his  lips,  and  his  boyish 
frown  deepened. 

"Let 's  go  over  this  again,  Mumsy,"  he  said 
gently,  when  she  had  finished.  "Let  me  tell  it.  I 
want  to  be  sure  I  Ve  got  it  straight." 

And  briefly  Harold  reviewed  the  story  of  his 
father's  disappearance  and  accepted  death  the 
previous  August.  It  was  a  story  that  had  made 
a  great  stir  in  the  missionary  world. 

For  thirty  years,  Dr.  Wicklow  Evans  had  been 
a  picturesque  figure  in  that  lawless,  blood-stained 
mountain  province  of  the  Turkish  sultan  known 
as  Anatolia.  He  was  a  good  American,  yet  so 
active  had  he  been,  and  so  much  had  he  found  to 
do  in  this  benighted  region,  fighting  the  Asiatic 
cholera,  teaching  stupid  villagers  to  save  their 
children  from  eye  diseases,  and  generally  letting 
his  light  shine  both  as  a  physician  and  a  man, 
that  in  this  long  period  he  had  made  only  two 
journeys  to  his  native  land,  the  first  seventeen 
years  before,  when  he  had  gone  home  to  be  mar 
ried,  the  second  only  the  previous  summer,  when 
he  had  returned  to  enter  Harold  in  St.  Paul's 
school. 

9 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Up  to  this  time  (when  he  was  fifteen),  all 
of  Harold's  life  had  been  spent  in  Adana,  that 
strange  Turkish  city  lost  in  the  Taurus  Moun 
tains,  five  hundred  miles  east  of  Constantinople, 
five  hundred  miles  west  of  Bagdad,  four  hundred 
miles  north  of  Jerusalem.  Here  the  boy  lived  the 
free,  wild,  missionary  life,  making  long  horse 
back  journeys  with  his  father  from  village  to  vil 
lage,  sleeping  in  caves  and  mud  houses,  learning 
to  drive  a  loaded  araba  (a  sort  of  gipsy  wagon) 
across  a  mountain  torrent,  down  one  steep  bank 
and  up  another,  without  ever  spilling  a  spoon, 
learning  to  fight  wild  dogs  in  the  villages,  learn 
ing  to  use  the  sling  native  fashion — the  real 
David  and  Goliath  article, — knowing  the  signs 
of  the  wild  boar  and  the  way  of  meeting  him, 
picking  up  the  Turkish  language,  and  yet  re 
maining  an  out-and-out  American  boy  whose 
greatest  pleasure,  through  long  winter  evenings, 
was  in  reading  and  re-reading  old  copies  of 
American  magazines  under  the  cheery  light  of 
a  Rochester  lamp,  while  his  mother  buzzed  a 
Singer  sewing-machine  and  his  father  read  the 
weekly  London  Times,  and  while  Nasr-ed-Din 
chanted  dolefully  outside  the  compound  walls. 

After  settling  Harold  in  St.  Paul's  school,  Dr. 
Evans  had  returned  by  way  of  Marseilles,  and 

10 


A  HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

had  written  his  wife  from  Alexandria,  saying 
that  he  would  stop  over  a  steamer  there,  so  that 
he  might  rim  up  to  Cairo  and  see  the  Great  Pyra 
mid.  It  had  always  been  one  of  the  doctor's  am 
bitions  to  explore  the  mysteries  of  Cheops.  He 
said  he  would  take  the  following  steamer,  three 
days  later,  and  proceed  to  Jaffa,  and  then  to  Alex- 
andretta,  the  disembarking  port  for  Adana. 

This  good  news  made  Mrs.  Evans  so  happy 
that  she  immediately  set  off  on  the  rough  horse 
back  journey  to  Alexandretta,  and  when  the 
steamer  came  to  anchor  and  the  little  boats  pulled 
off,  there  was  the  eager  wife  full  of  joy  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  her  husband  again,  and  giving 
him  a  pleasant  surprise. 

But,  alas,  the  doctor  was  not  on  board !  Nor 
did  the  next  steamer  bring  him.  Nor  did  any 
letter  or  any  word  come  from  him.  In  vain  the 
distracted  wife  made  effort  upon  effort.  In  vain 
the  American  consul  in  Cairo,  the  American  min 
ister  in  Constantinople,  did  what  they  could. 
Nothing  availed.  No  news  of  Wicklow  Evans 
was  ever  received,  and  as  the  weeks  and  months 
passed,  it  was  generally  agreed  that  this  fearless 
and  admirable  man  had  perished,  in  some  sinister 
way,  another  victim  in  the  long  list  of  myste 
rious  disappearances,  so  common  in  the  East, 

ii 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

where  neither  the  criminal  nor  the  motive  are 
ever  brought  to  light. 

"That  much  is  clear,  isn't  it?"  resumed  Har 
old.  "You  thought  Father  was  dead.  You 
thought  so  for  months.  You  went  back  to  Adana 
to  settle  up  things  before  returning  to  America 
to  be  with  me.  You  were  going  to  leave  this 
forsaken  old  land,  and — " 

"Don't  say  that,  Harold !  It 's  the  land  where 
your  father  and  I  have  spent  the  happiest  and 
most  useful  years  of  our  lives.  It 's  the  land 
where  you  were  born,  dear." 

"All  right,  Mumsy.  I  like  the  land  well 
enough,  barring  some  of  the  people,  but  the  point 
is,  you  suddenly  changed  your  mind  and  sent  for 
me  to  come  over  here.  You  would  n't  tell  me 
why.  You  just  said  come.  So  I  came.  And 
you  met  me  yesterday  at  the  steamer — say,  but  I 
was  seasick !  And  we  took  the  train  up  to  Cairo. 
And  we  drove  straight  out  to  this  gorgeous  old 
pyramid.  And  now  you  've  told  me  this  extra 
ordinary  thing — this  most  extraordinary  thing. 
Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that,  Mumsy?" 

Under  stress  of  emotion  the  boy  had  been  rat 
tling  on  nervously,  while  his  mother  watched  him 
with  sad,  understanding  eyes. 

"Take  the  basket,  Harold,"  she  said  quietly. 

12 


A  HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

"We  '11  go  over  to  those  palm-trees  where  there  's 
shade  and  water.  We  '11  feel  better  for  a  little 
breakfast.  Then  I  '11  tell  you  more." 

They  crossed  the  sand  in  silence,  and  when  the 
mother  spoke  again  it  was  to  ask  a  blessing  on 
their  simple  meal,  which  was  spread  on  a  massive 
slab  of  reddish  stone  that  had  once  been  part  of 
the  tomb  of  a  forgotten  king. 

"Bless,  O  Lord,  this  food  to  our  use,  and  us 
to  Thy  service" — her  voice  broke  here,  and  she 
repeated  the  words  with  almost  rapturous  devo 
tion — "and  us  to  Thy  service,  for  Christ's  sake. 
Amen." 

When  they  had  finished  eating,  they  rested  in 
the  shade  of  the  waving  palms,  and  again  Mrs. 
Evans  tried  to  overcome  Harold's  doubts. 

"I  know  you  see  nothing  in  what  I  've  said,  my 
son,"  she  began  gently.  "You  think  I  am  de 
ceived." 

Harold  hesitated  before  her  searching  eyes. 

"Well,  Mother,  it  seems  as  though  there  is  so 
awfully  little  to  go  on.  I  mean  so  little  that  is — 
er — tangible.  You  think  Father  is  living  because 
you  feel  that  he  is  living,  but— 

"I  know  he  is  living,"  she  breathed.  "The 
truest  things  are  the  things  you  know.  We  were 
so  close  together,  your  father  and  I,  that — it  is  n't 

13 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

like  America  over  here — this  is  a  land  of  mys 
tery." 

"But  if  Father  is  living,  why  has  n't  he  sent 
word?"  interrupted  the  boy. 

"He  has  n't  been  able  to  send  word.  Have  you 
forgotten  what  I  told  you?" 

"I  remember  everything,  Mother.  Father  had 
enemies  who  wanted  to  drive  him  out  of  Adana, 
and  they  threatened  him  and  threatened  you,  and, 
at  last,  they  saw  their  chance,  and  took  him,  and 
now  they  're  keeping  him  a  prisoner  somewhere. 
It 's  all  right  as  a  story,  but  we  Ve  got  nothing  to 
go  on.  We  don't  know  who  carried  Father  off, 
or  where  they  Ve  got  him,  or  anything  about 
it." 

"We  're  going  to  know  something  about  it  very 
soon — perhaps  to-day,"  Mrs.  Evans  said  firmly. 

"To-day?" 

"My  boy,  we  must  have  faith.  If  we  ask  for 
guidance,  it  will  be  given  us.  All  through  this 
lonely  year,  I  have  asked  for  guidance,  and  that 
is  why  we  are  here,  now,  at  this  Great  Pyramid." 

She  spoke  as  one  inspired,  and  Harold  looked 
at  her  in  awe-struck  wonder. 

"You  mean  that  we  may  find  out  something 
about  Father  from — from  this  pyramid?" 

"Yes,  dear.     You  know  this  is  the  last  place 


your  father  visited  and—  Her  voice  broke 
and  she  paused,  trying-  to  collect  herself. 

"But  Father's  enemies  weren't  here  in  Egypt, 
were  they?  I  thought  you  said  they  were  in 
Adana?" 

"Oh,  my  boy!  you  don't  realize  the  relentless 
cunning  of  the  Turk !  I  know  that  this  powerful 
enemy  had  your  father  shadowed  everywhere 
and—  Mrs.  Evans  glanced  fearfully  over  her 
shoulder  though  the  brilliant  flood  of  light  now 
pouring  across  the  sandy  plain  gave  no  oppor 
tunity  for  eavesdroppers. 

"And  what?     Go  on,  Mumsy." 

The  mother  hesitated  and  then  said  earnestly: 
"There  are  more  things  in  the  world  than  that 
two  and  two  make  four,  Harold.  I  have  never 
been  inside  this  pyramid,  but  three  times  during 
the  past  year,  I  have  seen  inside  of  it." 

"Seen  inside  of  the  pyramid!  You  mean — in 
a  dream?" 

"No.  It  was  n't  a  dream.  I  don't  know  what 
it  was,  but  I  know  it  was  real ;  it  was  true.  I  saw 
a  stone  chamber  with  a  low  ceiling,  so  low  that 
you  had  to  bend  your  head  when  you  stood  up 
straight." 

"I?"  exclaimed  the  boy.  "Did  you  see  me  in 
this  stone  chamber?" 

15 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"As  plainly  as  I  see  you  now.  You  were  hold 
ing  a  candle,  and  were  searching  for  something 
near  an  opening  in  the  wall." 

"An  opening?     What  kind  of  an  opening?" 

"A  small  square  hole  about  a  foot  wide.  The 
wall  was  polished,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  floor 
there  was  an  immense  gray  stone,  shaped  Hke  a 
trunk,  only  larger.  And  on  each  side  of  this 
stone,  there  were  two  other  stones  of  the  same 
shape,  but  smaller." 

"Five  stones  like  five  big  trunks !"  mused  Har 
old.  "Say,  Mumsy,  did  I  find  anything — when 
you  saw  me  in  the  dream?" 

"I  don't  know,  my  boy.  I  only  saw  you  search- 
ing." 

"And  you  saw  this  three  times  ?" 

"Three  times,"  she  nodded. 

"And  you  know  there  's  a  chamber  like  that  in 
side  the  Great  Pyramid?  Nobody  ever  told  you 
so?" 

"No." 

"You  never  saw  a  picture  of  it?  You  never 
read  about  it?" 

"Never." 

"You  just  know  it 's  there?" 

"I  just  know  it 's  there." 

Harold  was  silent  for  some  moments,  his  brows 

16 


A  HOUSE  WITHOUT  A  WINDOW 

drawn  together  in  tight  perplexity.  Then  he 
tapped  his  foot  and  pulled  at  his  under  lip,  and 
finally  he  murmured  softly,  "By  George !"  with  a 
look  of  astonishment. 

"What  is  it,  dear?  What  is  it  that  surprises 
you?" 

"Why — er — I  happened  to  remember  some 
thing  that  works  in  with  your  two-and-two- 
make-four  idea.  Along  in  June,  Mother,  before 
I  got  your  letter  to  sail,  I  went  down  to  Asbury 
Park  with  the  boys  on  a  school  excursion." 

"Yes,  I  remember  you  wrote  me  about  it." 

"Well,  there  was  a  gipsy  camp  there,  and  a 
woman  with  big  gold  ear-rings  told  my  fortune." 

"Yes?" 

"She  said  I  was  going  on  a  long  journey  across 
water.  She  got  that  right,  did  n't  she  ?  And  she 
said  I  was  going  to  get  an  important  letter." 

"That  was  my  letter." 

"No,  no,  because  this  was  to  be  a  letter  written 
on  stone.  The  boys  laughed  at  that,  for  how 
could  a  letter  be  written  on  stone  ?" 

"Go  on,  dear,"  urged  the  mother. 

"The  gipsy  woman  said  I  was  to  find  this  letter 
in  a  house  without  a  window,  where  there  was  a 
bed  that  had  never  been  slept  in.  Sounds  crazy, 
does  n't  it  ?  A  house  without  a  window !" 

17 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Mrs.  Evans  thought  intently,  then,  with  a  cry 
of  sudden  understanding,  "No,  it 's  true!  Don't 
you  see?  The  house  without  a  window  is— 
there!"  She  pointed  to  the  somber  mass  of 
Cheops.  "The  bed  that  has  never  been  slept  in 
is  the  sarcophagus  in  the  king's  chamber." 

"Great  Scott !"  cried  Harold,  stirred  at  last  to 
genuine  excitement.  "And  the  letter  written  on 
stone?  What  do  you  make  of  that,  Mumsy?" 

"The  letter  written  on  stone  is  a  message  from 
your   father.     It 's   waiting   for   us — in   there— 
somewhere.     You  must  find  it,  my  boy ;  you  must 
find  it." 


18 


CHAPTER  II 

FACING  THE  DRAGON 

HAROLD  EVANS— they  called  him 
"Sandy"  Evans  at  St.  Paul's  school, 
where  he  played  short-stop  on  the  nine — had  in 
herited  from  his  father  a  certain  practical  busi 
nesslike  quality  that  had  often  served  him.  "It 's 
a  sensible  kid!"  his  room-mate  used  to  say.  "No 
slop-over,  but  when  he  starts,  he  stays." 

And  now  that  Harold  (for  his  mother's  sake) 
was  enlisted  in  this  pyramid  adventure,  he  pro 
posed  to  see  it  through.  If  there  was  only  one 
chance  in  a  hundred  that  his  father  was  alive, 
that  father  whom  he  had  always  looked  up  to  as 
to  a  wise  elder  brother,  why  he  'd  take  the  chance 
if  it  brought  him  up  against  the  toughest  old 
dragon  in  Turkey.  His  father!  The  boy  shut 
his  lips,  choking  back  a  gulp,  and  made  ready  to 
tackle  Cheops.  Where  was  this  chamber  with  the 
five  stone  trunks? 

"Say,  Mumsy,  how  many  rooms  are  there  in  the 
pyramid?  Got  any  idea?"  he  asked  presently, 

19 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

and,  as  she  shook  her  head,  he  added,  "Let 's 
go  to  the  hotel  and  get  a  guide-book,  and  talk 
to  the  clerk,  and  we  '11  find  out  where  we  're 
at." 

As  they  walked  along  the  edge  of  the  desert 
towards  the  Mena  House,  about  five  minutes  dis 
tant,  they  caught  sight  of  a  trolley-car  laden  with 
tourists  speeding  along  the  broad  avenue,  bor 
dered  with  arching  acacia-trees,  that  leads  from 
Cairo. 

"It  seems  like  a  desecration,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Evans,  "to  have  a  sputtering  trolley-line  running 
to  this  sacred  spot." 

"I  don't  see  that,  Mother.  The  pyramids 
are  n't  any  more  sacred  if  you  pay  five  dollars  to 
see  'em  in  a  carriage,  are  they?  Hello !  that  must 
be  where  you  go  in !" 

He  pointed  to  a  dark  opening  near  the  base  of 
Cheops  where  a  group  of  white-robed  Arabs  were 
seated  cross-legged  on  the  great  stones,  two  of 
which  slanted  together  upward,  as  if  guarding  an 
entrance  underneath. 

As  they  approached  the  hotel,  a  grizzled  Turk 
in  red  fez,  red  slippers,  and  baggy  blue  trousers 
came  forward  respectfully  to  meet  them. 

"Here  's  Deeny,  Mother.  Hello,  Deeny!  Sa- 
bah  hire  olsoun!"  ("How  are  you?")  said  the 

20 


North   face  of   the   Great   Pyramid,  showing  the  entrance. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

boy,  falling  naturally  into  Turkish,  as  he  saw 
their  old  family  servant. 

"Choke  eyi,  cffendi,"  ("Very  well,  sir,")  an 
swered  the  Turk,  salaaming  three  times,  from 
the  eyes  and  the  lips  and  the  heart,  as  is  the  cus 
tom. 

Deeny — his  real  name  was  Nasr-ed-Din — had 
been  an  important  member  of  the  Evans  house 
hold  for  fifteen  years.  He  had  watched  over 
Harold  as  a  baby,  and  had  accompanied  Dr. 
Evans  on  scores  of  perilous  expeditions,  acting 
as  a  faithful  body-guard. 

"I  can't  make  a  Christian  of  him,"  the  doctor 
used  to  say,  "and  I  Ve  given  up  trying.  I  tell 
him  he  's  a  Christian  without  knowing  it." 

In  spite  of  his  sixty  years,  Nasr-ed-Din  was 
as  strong  as  a  horse.  One  day  he  unloaded  a 
small  upright  piano  that  had  been  brought  to 
Adana  on  a  squeaking  bullock-cart,  and  carried 
it  into  the  house  on  his  shoulders.  And  he  stood 
there  impassively  for  two  or  three  minutes,  with 
out  ever  thinking  of  putting  his  burden  down, 
while  Mrs.  Evans  decided  where  the  instrument 
should  be  placed. 

Nasr-ed-Din  had  grieved  deeply  over  his  mas 
ter's  loss,  and  had  refused  to  leave  Mrs.  Evans's 
service.  He  would  do  whatever  she  wished,  go 

22 


FACING  THE  DRAGON 

wherever  she  said.  He  would  make  the  beds, 
cook  the  food,  wash  the  clothes,  anything  except 
leave  the  lady  he  had  served  so  long.  And  so  he 
had  stayed  and  proved  himself  invaluable. 

"Say,  Deeny,  d  'ye  know  anything  about  this 
pyramid?"  questioned  Harold.  "Ever  see  it  be 
fore?  Ever  been  inside  it?" 

"Yok,"  ("No,")  said  the  servant,  clucking  his 
tongue,  and  lifting  his  chin  in  decided  neg 
ative. 

"No?  Well,  we  Ve  got  a  job  there,  you  and  I, 
and  I  wish  you  'd  get  busy.  Have  a  talk  with 
those  Arabs.  Ask  'em  if  they  know  about  a  room 
with  five  stone  trunks  in  it.  We  Ve  got  to  find 
it.  See?" 

After  some  further  explanation,  Harold  sent 
the  resourceful  Turk  off  in  search  of  information, 
while  he  addressed  himself  to  the  hotel  clerk. 
Mrs.  Evans,  meantime,  went  up-stairs  to  her 
room  to  write  some  letters. 

The  hotel  clerk,  a  red-faced  Englishman  with 
an  important  manner,  had  never  heard  of  a  cham 
ber  in  the  pyramid  containing  five  stone  trunks. 
He  did  n't  believe  there  was  such  a  chamber,  but 
admitted  he  was  not  an  authority,  being  too  busy. 

In  the  library  Harold  found  a  book  about  the 
Great  Pyramid,  and  studied  this  diligently  for  an 

23 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

hour.  It  was  pretty  hard  reading.  There  were 
pages  of  figures  and  diagrams  like  geometry. 

"Have  you  found  anything?"  asked  his  mother, 
when  she  joined  him  later. 

The  boy  looked  up  with  flushed  face  and  tum 
bled  hair.  "Have  I  found  anything?  I  should 
say  I  have.  Listen  to  this."  Then  he  read  from 
the  page :  "  'The  length  of  the  earth's  polar  axis 
is  assumed  by  pyramidists  to  be  500,000,000  pyra 
mid  inches,  or  7891.41  pyramid  miles  of  63,360 
pyramid  inches  to  the  mile,  or  7899.30  English 
miles.'  Now  that's  what  I  call  interesting!"  he 
grinned. 

"Harold,  what  is  the  use?"  his  mother  began, 
but  the  boy  stopped  her  with  a  grandiloquent 
wave  of  the  hand. 

"Madam,  I  know  what  you  're  going  to  ask. 
You  want  to  know  what  is  the  use  of  this  Great 
Pyramid.  You  want  to  know  why  it  was  built. 
Madam,  I  can  give  you  nine  answers — all  differ 
ent.  Listen !"  He  turned  to  the  index  of  the 
book.  Tt  was  built  as  a  barrier  against  desert 
sands.  As  an  imitation  of  Noah's  Ark.  As 
Satan's  Seat.  As  a  filtering  reservoir.  As 
Joseph's  granary.  As  a  gift  of  the  Queen  of 
Sheba.  As  a  tomb  of  the  King.  As  a  standard 
of  weights  and  measures.'  And  finally,  to  please 

24 


FACING  THE  DRAGON 

the  ladies.  I  like  the  last  one,  Mumsy,"  he 
laughed. 

"I  wish  you  would  n't  trifle,  Harold.  Did  you 
— did  you  learn  anything  about  the — the  cham 
ber  I  described?"  Mrs.  Evans  asked  anxiously. 

Harold  saw  the  tenseness  of  his  mother's  look, 
and  answered  affectionately,  hiding  the  fact  that 
he  had  searched  the  pages  in  vain  for  any  mention 
of  such  a  chamber. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Mumsy.  Deeny  and  I  are 
going  into  the  pyramid  now,  and  if  those  five 
stone  trunks  are  there— 

"They  are  there;  they  must  be  there!"  she  in 
sisted. 

"Then  we  '11  find  'em.  You  can  bank  on  that. 
I  '11  go  right  over  and  see  what  Deeny  's  doing." 

He  kissed  his  mother  fondly  and  told  her  to 
cheer  up,  and  said  he  'd  be  back  in  a  couple  of 
hours  or  so. 

"God  bless  you,  my  boy,"  she  whispered,  and 
there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  he  turned  to  go. 
"I  '11  be  waiting  at  the  mouth  of  the  pyramid  to 
meet  you  when  you  come  out,"  she  added. 

Alas,  they  little  knew  how  many  weary  weeks 
and  months  must  pass  before  they  would  meet 
again ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    THIRD    CHAMBER 

TEN  minutes  later,  Harold  entered  the  Great 
Pyramid,  making  his  way  carefully  along 
a  passage  about  four  feet  square  that  slanted 
downward  at  a  fairly  steep  incline  for  about  sixty 
feet,  and  then  planted  up  again.  Two  Arabs, 
chosen  by  Nasr-ed-Din,  went  before  him,  and  the 
Turk  came  last.  Each  one  carried  a  candle,  and 
as  the  bent  procession  moved  along,  their  flaring 
shadows  danced  strangely  on  the  yellowish 
walls. 

At  the  top  of  the  second  incline,  the  passage 
straightened  out  and  ran  forward  on  a  level  for 
a  hundred  feet  or  so,  where  it  opened  into  a  large 
room,  about  eighteen  feet  in  each  dimension. 

"Deeny,  what  are  those  fellows  carrying  sticks 
for?"  whispered  Harold. 

Nasr-ed-Din  gestured  that  he  did  not  know. 

"Queen's  chambaire,"  announced  one  of  the 
white-robed  guides,  holding  his  candle  high. 

"Hello !  you  speak  English !"  said  the  boy. 
26 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

"Yes,  sair.  Vair  good  Engleesh.  My  name, 
Saide.  Look  out,  sair." 

At  this  moment  Harold  was  startled  by  a  whiz 
zing-  sound,  and  a  number  of  small,  swiftly  mov 
ing  creatures  darted  through  the  candle-light. 

"What  are  they?     Birds?"  he  cried. 

"Bats.  Turn  your  back,  sair.  They  hit  you, 
or — bite  you." 

As  he  spoke  Saide  swung  his  stick  about  him 
vigorously,  and  moved  toward  a  long,  narrow  re 
cess  in  the  wall,  shaped  like  a  Gothic  window. 
It  was  out  of  this  recess  that  the  bats  seemed  to 
be  flying. 

"Do  bats  bite?" 

"Peermid  bats  bite,  sair.  If  he  catch  your 
cheek,  peermid  bat  cut  heem  out  a  hole." 

Harold  asked  what  this  recess  in  the  wall  was 
for. 

"Queen's  say-coph-gus,"  answered  Saide. 

"Oh  I  see!"  smiled  the  boy.  "And  where  is 
it  now,  the  say-coph-gus?" 

Saide  expressed  the  pious  opinion  that  Allah 
alone  could  answer  that  question. 

Harold  walked  back  and  forth  about  this 
chamber,  which  was  bare  and  empty,  except  for 
clouds  of  irritating  dust.  The  floor  was  perfectly 
even,  with  no  sign  of  stone  trunks. 

27 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Try  the  next  room,"  he  ordered,  and  the  pro 
cession  started  back  along  the  same  level  passage. 
"Wait!  Let  me  go  first."  He  pushed  ahead 
with  the  zeal  of  an  explorer,  and  Nasr-ed-Din 
came  close  behind,  which  was  fortunate,  for  they 
had  not  advanced  more  than  fifty  feet,  when  a 
shriek  of  terror  resounded  through  the  pyr 
amid. 

"You  black  scoundrels !  Let  go  of  me !  Help ! 
Help!" 

Harold  sprang  forward,  and  presently  came 
upon  two  Arabs  who  were  struggling  with  a 
young  tourist,  pressing  him  down,  with  threaten 
ing  gestures,  over  an  opening  that  yawned  like  a 
well  in  the  floor  of  the  passage. 

"Come  on,  Deeny!  Quick!"  shouted  Evans. 
Here  was  a  white  man — or  boy — perhaps  an 
American,  in  trouble,  and  without  waiting  for 
further  explanation,  Sandy  swung  on  the  nearest 
Arab  in  good  United  States  style,  catching  him 
cleanly  on  the  jaw,  and  tumbling  him  backward 
in  dazed  astonishment.  Nasr-ed-Din,  meantime, 
had  seized  the  other  Arab  by  the  scruff  of  his 
neck,  and,  with  huge  strength,  was  dangling  him 
over  the  black  gulf,  while  the  fellow  rolled  his 
eyes  piteously  and  howled  for  mercy. 

"Brakkahyim-mi,  effendi?"  asked  the  Turk, 
28 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

turning  to  Harold,  which,  being  interpreted,  is, 
"Shall  I  drop  him,  sir?" 

"No,  no !  Not  drop !"  shouted  Saicle  from  be 
hind,  and  explained  rapidly  that  this  opening 
led  straight  down  into  the  rock  for  an  immense 
distance  under  the  pyramid.  The  man  would  be 
dashed  to  death. 

But  the  Turk  paid  no  attention,  and  still  held 
his  captive  at  arm's-length,  squirming  over  the 
void. 

"Brakkahyim-mi,  eifendi?"  repeated  Nasr-ed- 
Din,  his  eyes  flashing. 

"It  would  serve  him  jolly  well  right,"  said  the 
stranger.  "He  talked  about  dropping  me,  but — 
oh,  well,  let  the  poor  wretch  go." 

"Koy  varsin  (Let  him  go),  Deeny,"  said  Har 
old,  motioning  to  the  Turk,  whereupon  the  terri 
fied  Arab  scurried  away,  muttering. 

Then  Sandy  turned  to  his  new  acquaintance. 
He  was  a  boy  of  about  seventeen,  tall  and  smartly 
dressed,  with  a  frank,  cheery  face  and  Harold 
immediately  recognized  him  as  an  American. 

"I  tell  you,  old  chap,  I  owe  you  an  awful  lot," 
began  the  stranger,  awkwardly. 

"Glad  I  happened  along,"  nodded  Harold. 

"Stopping  at  the  Mena  House?" 

"Yep." 

29 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"So  am  I.  Suppose  you're  just  starting  in? 
I  'm  just  through." 

"You  mean  starting  in  the  pyramid?  Yes," 
answered  Sandy. 

"Rotten  place !  They  ought  to  have  electric 
lights  here  and  an  elevator.  Why  not?  Say, 
my  name  is  John  McGreggor." 

"Mine  is  Harold  Evans." 

"I  'm  from  Chicago." 

"I  'm  an  American  too.  Say,  you  'd  hetter 
take  my  man  Deeny  along  with  you.  I  '11  be 
all  right  until  he  comes  back.  They  won't 
try  to  hold  up  anybody  else  to-day.  Besides 
Deeny  picked  out  these  Arabs  of  mine,  and  Deeny 
knows  his  business." 

"That 's  awfully  decent  of  you,"  said  the  other 
boy.  "I  '11  send  him  right  back.  By-by !  See 
you  at  dinner!"  he  called,  as  he  drifted  away, 
candle  in  hand,  through  the  long,  stone  passage, 
straight  as  a  telescope,  that  is  said  to  have  pointed 
exactly  to  the  north  star,  some  six  thousand  years 
ago,  when  the  pyramid  was  built. 

As  soon  as  McGreggor  had  vanished,  Harold 
came  back  to  the  business  in  hand. 

"Now,  then,"  he  turned  to  Saide,  who  had 
been  squatting  discreetly  beyond  the  well,  "  we  '1! 
try  the  next  room." 

30 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

"Yes  sair.  King's  chambaire — by  Great  Gal 
lery." 

The  Arab  sprang  forward  with  nimble  bare 
feet  into  another  passage,  wider  than  the  first 
and  lofty  as  a  church,  that  stretched  upward  in  a 
steep  incline  like  a  strange  mountain  railway 
with  a  four-foot  depressed  level  between  its  stone 
tracks.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  Great  Gallery, 
was  a  chapel-like  vestibule  that  led  into  the  vast 
chamber  where  mighty  Cheops  was  laid  to  rest 
in  his  sarcophagus. 

This  was  the  first  object  that  caught  Harold's 
eye,  the  scarred  and  battered  red-rock  casket  that 
has  stood  there,  lidless  and  empty,  these  many 
centuries.  The  boy  noticed  that  the  walls  of 
this  king's  chamber  were  defaced  with  many 
names  and  inscriptions,  and  he  studied  these 
mural  writings  eagerly,  moving  his  candle  back 
and  forth;  but  he  came  upon  nothing  more  im 
portant  than  the  foolish  scrawlings  of  tourists 
that  had  passed. 

"See  jynte,"  exclaimed  Saide,  proudly,  point 
ing  to  the  thin,  straight  lines,  like  pencil  rulings, 
that  showed  the  joining  of  the  huge  stone  blocks 
in  the  walls,  some  of  them  ten  feet  square. 
"Very  small  jynte.  No  leetle  bit  you  can  put  yer 
finger  up." 

31 


. 


Copyright  by  U 


&  Underwood.) 


View  of  the  Great  Gallery  of  the  Great  Pyramid. 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

"Next  chamber,"  directed  Harold  briefly. 

The  guide  held  out  his  brown  hands,  palms  up, 
and  lifted  his  shoulders  apologetically. 

"Ees  no  more  chanibaire,  sair,"  he  replied. 

"What?" 

"No  more  chambaire,  only — "  He  hesitated, 
then  turned  and  led  the  way  back  to  the  end  of 
the  Great  Gallery,  where  he  pointed  upward 
among  the  dim  shadows.  There  in  the  topmost 
corner  of  the  lofty  vault,  Harold  made  out  some 
wooden  cross-bars  set  across  the  walls. 

"Well?" 

"Very  hard,  sair.  Must  have  ladders,  ropes. 
Dang'russ !" 

"That 's  all  right.  Ah !  Here  's  Deeny !  Did 
you  get  him  out  all  right  ?  Good.  Deeny,  we  're 
going  up  there.  You  make  him  get  the  stuff,  and 
—hustle.  I  '11  wait  here."  This  in  vigorous 
Turkish,  which  Nasr-ed-Din  forthwith  translated 
into  Arabic  with  fear-compelling  gestures. 

Saide  turned  pleadingly  to  Harold.  "You 
geeve  bakshish,  sair.  Only  want  you  be  sateesfy. 
Want  good  name  'mong  'Muricans.  You  know 
Meester  Rogaires?  He  'commend  me.  You 
know  Mees  Weelyams?  She  'commend  me. 
You  give  bakshish?" 

The  extra  bakshish  being  promised,  Saide  and 
33 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Nasr-ed-Din  hurried  off,  leaving  Sandy  with  the 
other  guide,  whose  name  turned  out  to  be  Maho 
met.  Mahomet  explained  that  they  were  now 
going  to  climb  to  the  mysterious  five  chambers 
that  tier  above  the  king's  chamber,  and  are  never 
visited  except  in  rare  cases  by  some  venturesome 
and  athletic  tourist. 

In  a  surprisingly  short  time,  Saide  and  the 
Turk  returned,  their  faces  glistening  from  their 
efforts,  and  their  arms  filled  with  coils  of  rope. 

With  fascinated  interest  Harold  watched  Saide 
as  the  Arab,  by  some  miracle  of  skill,  worked  his 
way,  foot  by  foot,  up  the  precipitous  corner  walls 
of  the  Great  Gallery  with  ropes  hitched  around 
his  waist,  and  a  lighted  candle  in  his  teeth. 

"Now,  sair,  your  turn,"  he  called,  when  he 
had  reached  the  cross-bars,  and  his  voice  re 
sounded  through  the  pyramid  with  strange  rever 
berations. 

If  Sandy  Evans  had  been  an  archeologist  or 
an  Egyptologist,  he  would  have  taken  careful 
note  of  the  next  hour's  exploring.  It  was  a  great 
experience.  First  (after  reaching  the  cross 
bars)  he  crawled  on  hands  and  knees  through  a 
rough  horizontal  tunnel,  thick  with  dust, 'that  led 
into  an  upright  shaft  full  of  twittering  bats.  Up 
this  shaft  he  wriggled  and  presently  came  to  a 

34 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

jagged  hole,  like  a  fireplace  out  of  a  chimney,  that 
opened  into  the  first  chamber.  Then  a  yard  or 
two  above  this,  to  another  hole  that  opened  into 
the  second  chamber.  And  so  on.  Before  he  had 
gone  far,  Sandy  Evans  was  a  woeful  sight, 
streaming  with  sweat  and  smudged  with  dirt,  but 
he  shut  his  teeth  and  pressed  on.  He  was  look 
ing  for  five  stone  trunks. 

The  first  chamber  was  a  good-sized  room  but 
ridiculously  low,  not  over  two  feet  high  in  the 
lowest  part,  and  scarcely  four  in  the  highest. 
The  second  chamber  was  about  a  foot  higher, 
and  the  third  chamber  was  higher  still,  so  that 
Sandy  could  stand  upright  in  it.  In  each  of 
these  rooms  the  ceilings  were  formed  of  great 
granite  blocks,  smooth  and  level,  whereas  the 
floor  blocks  offered  uneven  surfaces  like  rough- 
hewn  boulders.  And  in  the  third  chamber- 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it — these  boulders  took 
the  form  of  monster  trunks,  five  of  them,  ranged 
along  side  by  side  with  narrow  spaces  between. 

As  Sandy  lifted  his  candle  and  made  out  these 
grim  gray  forms,  he  gave  a  little  gasp  and  then 
stood  rigid. 

"By  George!  it's  true!"  he  murmured,  swal 
lowing  hard.  "Mother  did  see  it!" 

Then  he  turned  to  the  wall,  and,  just  opposite 
35 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

the  middle  trunk,  he  discovered  a  small  square 
opening.     "That 's  true,  too !     It 's  all  true !" 

Now  the  boy  knew  that  he  was  about  to  find  a 
message  from  his  father.  He  knezv  it.  And, 
going  to  the  wall  with  a  strange,  confident  faith, 
he  examined  the  polished  stone  about  the  small 
square  opening.  There  it  was !  His  father's 
handwriting ! 

To  Mary  or  Harold  or  Nasr-ed-Din: 

You  must  go  to  Jerusalem  and  find  the  Greek  monk, 
Basil,  who  has  a  carpenter  shop  in  the  tower  of  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher,  and  ask  him  to — 

It  ended  abruptly  with  no  date  and  no  signa 
ture,  but  the  handwriting  was  unmistakable. 

Harold  stood  staring  like  one  in  a  trance. 
This  incredible  thing  had  happened.  His  father 
was  alive  and — in  his  great  peril  he  had  tried 
to  write  a  message  to  those  who  loved  him.  He 
had  tried  to  tell  them  what  to  do,  but — he  must 
have  been  interrupted — perhaps  by  his  enemies 
—perhaps— 

A  rush  of  sickening  fears  made  the  boy  weak. 
He  staggered  away  from  the  wall,  but — it  seemed 
as  if  he  could  not  go  on.  He  leaned  heavily 
against  a  stone  mound  and  tried  to  collect  him 
self.  He  must  go  on.  He  must  hurry  back  to 

36 


Harold  stood  staring  like  one  in  a  trance. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

his  mother  with  this  wonderful  news.  He  must 
hurry,  but — 

The  thought  of  his  mother  gave  Harold  new 
strength.  His  mother !  It  was  her  love  and 
trust  that  had  brought  them  this  great  joy.  He 
must  be  brave  for  her.  He  must  think  of  every 
thing  and — the  first  thing  was  to  carefully  copy 
down  these  precious  words  of  his  father.  There ! 
Now — to  start  on  the  downward  climb. 

Having  carefully  put  away  his  father's  words, 
the  boy  told  Deeny  he  was  ready  to  descend,  and 
a  few  moments  later,  they  were  back  in  the  Great 
Gallery.  And  two  minutes  after  that,  a  smudged 
and  perspiring,  but  radiantly  happy,  youth  sprang 
out  from  the  pyramid  entrance  and  looked  about 
for  his  mother.  She  had  promised  to  be  here, 
waiting  for  him.  Where  was  she? 

"Oh,  Mumsy,  hoo-oo!" 

He  gave  the  familiar  call,  and  listened  confi 
dently  for  the  answer.  But  no  answer  came. 
Queer!  She  must  be  about  somewhere.  Ah, 
yes,  she  had  gone  over  to  their  breakfast  place 
under  the  palms.  He  strode  across  the  sand,  but, 
no,  she  was  not  there!  Filled  with  a  vague 
alarm,  the  boy  hurried  back  to  the  hotel.  His 
mother  must  have  grown  tired  waiting.  Per 
haps  she  had  a  headache.  Had  the  clerk  seen 

38 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

Mrs.  Evans  ?  The  clerk  shrugged  his  shoulders 
at  Sandy's  disreputable  appearance.  No,  he  had 
not  seen  Mrs.  Evans.  She  went  out  a  couple  of 
hours  ago,  and  had  not  returned. 

Sandy  Evans  felt  a  sudden  gripping  at  the 
heart.  His  mother  had  not  returned.  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  Three  o'clock.  How  the  time  had 
passed !  Wait !  Perhaps  she  had  gone  to  her 
room,  and  the  stupid  clerk  had  not  seen  her.  He 
raced  up  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  but  he 
came  down  slowly.  No,  not  there.  And  no  lit 
tle  note  on  the  pincushion.  Where  could  his 
mother  be? 

Sandy  hurried  back  to  the  pyramid.  He 
searched  everywhere  and  questioned  everyone. 
Alas !  There  was  no  comfort  here  and  the  boy 
felt  a  sickening  sense  of  his  own  impotence 
against  the  shadows  and  mysteries  of  this  colos 
sal  tomb.  Could  it  be  that  his  mother  was  hidden 
inside,  lost  somewhere  in  those  mysterious  pas 
sages  and  chambers? 

The  lad  rushed  back  to  the  hotel  in  a  panic  of 
alarm.  Perhaps  his  mother  was  right  when  she 
said  that  the  cruel  cunning  of  their  enemies 
could  follow  them  into  Egypt?  Had  these  ene 
mies  struck  at  them  again — here — now?  White- 
faced,  Harold  sought  out  Nasr-ed-Din  and  con- 

39 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

fided  his  fears  to  the  faithful  Turk,  then  they 
continued  their  search  together.  At  six  o'clock 
they  were  still  searching.  At  nine  o'clock  they 
were  still  searching.  At  midnight  Deeny  per 
suaded  his  young  master  to  go  to  his  room  and 
try  to  get  a  little  sleep. 

Harold  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  heartsick 
and  weary.  He  had  learned  nothing.  He  had 
found  nothing.  No  one  had  seen  his  mother. 
No  one  knew  anything  about  his  mother. 

A  dozen  times  through  that  dreadful  night 
Sandy  Evans  stole  into  his  mother's  room,  hop 
ing  against  hope,  but  the  room  was  always  silent 
and  empty.  In  desperate  terror  he  knelt  down 
by  his  mother's  bed  and  tried  to  say  his  prayers, 
but  always  before  his  eyes  came  visions  of  those 
black,  strange  rooms  in  the  pyramid.  Was  she 
a  prisoner,  his  darling  mother,  in  some  such 
lonely  chamber  ?  Was  she  in  danger  ?  Was  she 
in  pain  ?  Try  as  he  might  to  be  brave  and  manly, 
these  torturing  thoughts  brought  choking  sobs 
and,  burying  his  face  in  the  pillow,  the  poor  boy 
struggled  with  the  loneliest,  bitterest  hours  that 
had  ever  come  into  his  life.  Meantime,  down  be 
low  in  the  purple-shadowed  courtyard,  Nasr-ed- 
Din  sat  crooning  one  of  those  strange  minor 

40 


THE  THIRD  CHAMBER 

chants  that,  for  centuries,  have  relieved  bruised 
hearts  in  this  land  of  beauty  and  mystery  and 
sorrow. 


CHAPTER  IV 
JACK  MC  GREGGOR'S  STORY 

DAYS  passed,  and  nothing  more  was  heard 
of  Mrs.  Wicklow  Evans.  Her  disappear 
ance  was  as  complete  and  unaccountable  as  that 
of  her  husband  the  year  before.  It  was  evident 
that  another  crime  had  been  committed,  but 
whether  there  was  any  connection  between  the 
two,  the  authorities  were  at  a  loss  to  say.  The 
American  consul  at  Cairo,  and  various  English 
and  Egyptian  officials,  did  what  they  could  in  the 
way  of  an  investigation ;  they  arrested  several 
Arabs  with  doubtful  pyramid  records,  and  tried 
to  frighten  them  into  some  sort  of  avowal,  but 
the  Arabs  swore  by  Allah  and  all  the  stars  of 
heaven  that  they  knew  nothing  about  this  un 
fortunate  lady.  Then  liberal  rewards  were  of 
fered,  and  a  search  was  made  in  Cairo  and  vari 
ous  Egyptian  villages,  but  all  to  no  avail. 

"It 's  incredible,"  declared  the  American  con 
sul.  "We  have  no  clue  to  the  criminal,  no  motive 
for  the  crime,  and  not  the  slightest  indication  as 

42 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

to  what  really  happened.  All  we  know  is  that 
on  a  certain  afternoon,  Airs.  Evans  strolled  casu 
ally  out  of  the  Mena  House,  leaving  all  her 
things,  clothing,  money,  jewelry,  and  never 
came  back.  At  one  moment  she  was  there  by 
the  pyramid,  and  the  next  moment  she  was' 
gone." 

During  the  first  sad  days  that  followed  Irs 
mother's  disappearance,  Harold  found  much  com 
fort  in  the  companionship  of  John  McGreggor, 
or  Jack,  as  he  soon  learned  to  call  him,  who 
proved  himself,  in  this  emergency,  a  loyal  and 
sympathetic  friend. 

"You  stuck  to  me  that  day  in  the  pyramid," 
said  Jack,  "and  now  I  '11  stick  to  you." 

Together  the  two  boys  went  over  every  circum 
stance  of  this  mysterious  case,  weighing  scraps 
of  evidence,  searching  for  motives,  questioning 
the  Arabs,  and  arguing,  like  two  detectives,  over 
various  theories  of  the  crime.  Harold  confided 
fully  in  his  companion,  telling  him  of  his  mother's 
extraordinary  vision — if  vision  it  was,  and  of  her 
firm  conviction  that  Dr.  Evans  was  still  alive; 
he  also  showed  Jack  the  unfinished  message  that 
he  had  found  in  the  third  chamber  of  the  pyra 
mid. 

"Talk  about  mystery  stories !  "  exclaimed  Mc- 
44 


JACK  McGREGGOR'S  STORY 

Greggor.  "This  beats  anything  I  ever  read,  and 
I  Ve  read  'em  all!" 

Then,  for  the  hundredth  time,  they  speculated 
as  to  what  could  have  happened  to  make  Dr. 
Evans  break  off  his  message  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence. 

"What  gets  me,"  reflected  Jack,  "is  how  your 
father  imagined  that  you  would  ever  find  his  mes 
sage  in  such  a  freak  place.  He  might  as  well 
have  written  it  on  top  of  the  north  pole." 

"Perhaps  he  wrote  messages  in  different  places 
—where  they  took  him — just  on  the  chance,"  sug 
gested  Harold. 

"Perhaps  your  mother  is  writing  messages  now 
—somewhere.  Excuse  me,  old  boy,  I  did  n't 
mean  to  make  you  feel  bad." 

"It 's  all  right,  Jack.  We  Ve  got  to  talk  this 
over,"  said  Evans,  bravely.  "I  guess  I  'd  go 
crazy  if  I  did  n't  have  you  to  talk  to." 

After  much  discussion,  the  boys  decided  that 
it  was  best  to  say  nothing  to  the  authorities  about 
the  message  that  Harold  had  found. 

"Here 's  the  point,  Sandy,"  argued  Jack. 
"Your  father  and  mother  have  been  carried  off 
by  the  same  party — that 's  certain.  He  must  be 
a  rich  and  powerful  old  scoundrel  who  has  some 
reason  that  we  don't  know  about.  Am  I  right  ?" 

45 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Why  do  you  think  he's  rich?"  questioned 
Harold.^ 

"He  must  have  money  to  get  away  with  such 
a  thing — money  and  power.  We  're  up  against 
a  big  villain,  Sandy,  a  first-class  villain,  and  we 
don't  want  to  let  him  know  the  cards  we  hold. 
I  say  cards ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  Ve  only  got 
one  card  up  to  date,  but  that  one  's  a  peach." 

"You  mean  Basil?" 

"Sure.  That  little  Greek  carpenter  in  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher  sounds  good  to 
me." 

"He  's  a  Greek  monk,  Jack,  and  he  don't  have 
to  be  little." 

"He  can  be  anything  he  likes,  but  we  want  to 
play  him  for  all  he  's  worth,  and  not  let  the  rich 
scoundrel  know  we  're  after  him." 

"You  mean  after  Basil?" 

"Sure !  The  thing  for  us  to  do,  after  we  Ve 
done  all  we  can  here  to  find  your  mother — I  'm 
afraid  we  Ve  done  that  already." 

"I  'm  afraid  we  have." 

"The  thing  for  us  to  do,  Sandy,  is  to  skate 
across  to  Jerusalem  just  as  fast  as  we  can  with 
out  letting  any  one  know  we  're  on  the  track  of 
anything.  I  would  n't  even  tell  that  big  Turk 
of  yours." 


JACK  McGREGGOR'S  STORY 

"Deeny?     Oh,  he 's  all  right." 

"Don't  I  know  that?  Didn't  I  see  his  arm 
action  ?  He 's  a  wonder.  Just  the  same,  he 
might  n't  hit  it  off  so  well  with  our  friend  the 
Greek  monk.  And  we  don't  want  Brother  Basil 
dropped  into  a  well  until  we  've  got  his  secret  out 
of  him.  Do  we?" 

Harold  smiled. 

"I  see.  I  '11  be  careful."  Then  he  was  silent 
a  moment.  "Say,  Jack,"  he  went  on  awkwardly, 
"it 's  mighty  good  of  you  to  take  this  interest 
in  my  troubles,  but — tell  me,  are  you — are  you 
thinking  of  going  to  Jerusalem  with  me?" 

"Am  I  thinking  of  it?  Does  a  man  leave  a 
ball  game  in  the  ninth  inning — with  the  score 
tied  and  three  men  on  bases?  I  'm  going  to  see 
that  Greek  carpenter,  if  it 's  the  last  thing  I  do. 
You  can't  drive  me  away  with  a  club — that  is," 
he  added,  with  a  keen  glance,  "unless  you  'd 
rather  not  have  me." 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  Harold,  quickly. 
"There  's  nothing  I  'd  like  so  much  as  to  have 
you  come  along,  Jack,  and — and  see  what  we  can 
do — only — I  was  afraid  you  might  have  other 
plans  and — er — " 

"Other  plans  ?"  laughed  McGreggor.  "I  Ve 
got  the  smoothest  collection  of  other  plans  you 

47 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

ever  heard  of.  I  s'pose  you  Ve  been  wondering 
what  I  'm  doing  over  here  anyway,  knocking 
around  Egypt  looking  for  trouble  instead  of  be 
ing  back  where  I  belong,  grinding  out  Latin 
verses  and  proving  that  the  square  of  the  hypoth- 
enuse  is  equal  to — to  some  other  foolish  thing." 

"This  is  vacation,"  suggested  Harold. 

"Yes,  but  I  'm  not  going  back  to  boarding- 
school  after  vacation.  I  'm  a  bird  of  the  air. 
I  'm  free.  No  more  hypothenuses  in  mine.  I  'm 
on  my  way  around  the  world." 

"That's  great!" 

"Maybe  not.  Maybe  I  'm  a  dunce,  as  my  dis 
tinguished  father  has  insinuated.  Sit  down, 
Sandy,  and  I  '11  tell  you  the  sad  story  of  John 
McGreggor." 

Then  Jack  explained  how  a  serious  disagree 
ment  between  himself  and  the  elder  McGreggor 
had  grown  out  of  the  double  question  of  Jack's 
going  to  college  and  Jack's  yearly  allowance. 

"You  see  I  don't  want  to  go  to  college,  Sandy. 
The  governor  never  went,  and  why  should  I  ?" 

"Does  he  want  you  to  go?" 

"He  's  crazy  about  it — says  he  'd  be  a  bigger 
man  if  he  'd  gone.  I  tell  him  I  don't  want  to  be 
a  bigger  man  than  he  is.  I  don't  want  to  be  a 
rah-rah  boy  with  a  ribbon  on  my  hat  and  a  bull 


JACK  McGREGGOR'S  STORY 

pup.  I  want  to  go  into  business  with  Father  and 
learn  the  things  he  knows.  Am  I  right?' 

"I  Ve  always  wanted  to  go  to  college,"  said 
Harold,  thoughtfully.  "Could  n't  you  go  into 
business  afterward?" 

"And  waste  four  years?  And  get  all  out  of 
the  business  idea  ?  Why,  I  'd  prob'ly  come  home 
in  my  senior  year  and  patronize  the  old  gentle 
man.  It 's  a  fact.  I  've  told  him  all  this,  but  he 
won't  listen.  He  says  I  '11  have  money  enough 
anyhow,  and — well,  college  is  the  thing,  accord 
ing  to  Father.  So  I  finally  compromised.  I 
said,  'All  right,  I  '11  go  to  college,  but  I  've  got 
to  have  an  allowance  of  five  thousand  a  year.' 
He  said  three  thousand,  but  I  stuck  to  five. 
'Take  me  into  business,  Dad,  and  I  '11  get  along 
on  fifty  dollars  a  month  pocket-money,'  I  said, 
'but  if  it 's  college,  then  I  want  five  thousand.' 
You  can  see,  Sandy,  if  a  boy  's  going  to  make  a 
fool  of  himself,  he  's  got  to  have  the  coin  to  make 
a  fool  of  himself  with.  Am  I  right?" 

John  smiled  engagingly  as  he  advanced  this 
singular  theory. 

"Five  thousand  dollars  is  a  big  allowance,"  re 
flected  Sandy.  He  remembered  that  his  father's 
entire  yearly  income  as  a  missionary  doctor  had 
never  exceeded  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 

49 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  know  it 's  a  big  allowance.  I  put  the  figure 
high  to  discourage  the  old  gentleman,  but  it 
did  n't  work.  Dad 's  awfully  stubborn.  He 
hung  fast  to  his  original  proposition,  and  at  last 
we  compromised  on — say,  that  was  a  great  idea 
—took  me  a  whole  .night  to  land  it.  Listen!  I 
make  this  trip  around  the  world — with  three  thou 
sand  dollars  that  the  governor  advances.  And 
if  I  come  home  after  the  trip,  with  the  three  thou 
sand  still  to  the  good,  then  he  admits  that  I  Ve 
got  business  ability,  and  takes  me  in  with  him, 
and  forgets  about  the  college.  But,  if  I  just  have 
the  trip  and  blow  in  the  three  thousand,  then  I 
admit  I  'm  not  as  smart  as  I  thought  I  was,  and 
I  stop  kicking,  and  go  to  college — with  a  ribbon 
on  my  hat.  Savvy,  Sandy?" 

Young  Evans  listened  to  this  explanation  with 
growing  wonder. 

"Oh,  yes — I  understand,  but — say,  you  Ve  got 
your  nerve  all  right!" 

"How  so?" 

"I  Ve  heard  of  fellows  working  their  way 
through  college,  but  when  it  comes  to  working 
your  way  around  the  world,  and — stopping  at 
first-class  hotels — how  are  you  going  to  do  it, 
man?" 

50 


JACK  McGREGGOR'S  STORY 

"Tell  you  how,  Sandy.  My  father  's  in  the 
show  business." 

"Oh !"  said  Harold,  blankly. 

"Moving-picture  houses — five  and  ten  cents — 
you  know.  He  's  got  a  string  of  'em  all  over  the 
country.  Fellow  pounds  on  the  piano  while  the 
cowboys  chase  the  villain  and  the  battle-ships 
salute  the  flag  and  all  that, — you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Packed  all  the  time.  Everybody  goes — min 
isters,  servant-girls,  everybody.  Barrels  of 
money  in  it,  but  it 's  hard  to  get  good  films — a 
new  idea — a  snappy  story — something  different. 
See?" 

"What 's  this  got  to  do  with  your  round-the- 
world  scheme?" 

"A  whole  lot.  Good  films  with  a  novelty  are 
worth  money,  and  I  'm  out  to  get  good  films. 
I  Ve  got  the  finest  moving-picture  outfit  there  is. 
I  '11  show  it  to  you — up  in  my  room.  That 's 
what  I  was  looking  the  old  pyramid  over  for— 
thought  I  might  strike  something — was  going  to 
have  Arabs  race  up  and  down  and  do  stunts,  but 
— there  's  not  enough  story  in  that.  You  Ve  got 
to  have  a  story/' 

Harold  was  becoming  interested. 

51 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  Jack,  to  think  up  a 
story,"  he  said. 

''Help  me?  Why,  you  have  helped  me.  This 
is  the  first  big  idea  I  Ve  had — this  kidnapped  mis 
sionary  lay-out.  Excuse  me,  Sandy,  you  know 
I  'm  sorry,  but — just  as  a  story — this  family  ad 
venture  of  yours  is  a  regular  head-liner,  you  know 
that!" 

"You  mean  you  could — you  could  make  some 
money  out  of  it?"  hesitated  Harold. 

"Make   some  money?     I'll  bet  it's  worth  a 
thousand  dollars  before  we  get  through  with  it— 
that  means  five  hundred  for  you,  Sandy." 

Harold  gasped  in  amazement.  "Five  hundred 
dollars  for — for  what?" 

"Well,  you  talk  Turkish,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Deeny  talks  Arabic?" 

"Sure." 

"There  's  ten  dollars  a  day  saved  right  at  the 
start.  Would  n't  I  have  to  pay  an  interpreter  to 
drill  the  company — you  know — in  the  moving- 
picture  story?  Besides,  Deeny  can  pose  as  a 
Turkish  pasha,  or  a  Circassian  bandit,  or  an  Ar 
menian  that 's  got  to  be  massacred.  It 's  a  case 
of  hire  a  costume  and  dress  him  up.  He  '11  make 
a  great  bandit — great !" 

52 


JACK  McGREGGOR'S  STORY 

"Yes,  yes,  but—  "  the  boy  hesitated  a  moment, 
reflecting  that  ten  dollars  a  day  would  come  in 
wonderfully  well  to  help  out  the  small  store  of 
money  he  had  found  among  his  mother's  things. 


Boys  in  Cairo. 

Still  it  did  not  seem  right  or — or  delicate  to  allow 
his  father's  misfortunes  to  be  used  in  a  moving- 
picture  story. 

"Can't  you  see  this  thing  opening  out  ?"  rattled 
on  Jack.  "The  Circassian  bandit  with  their 
prisoner  are  fleeing  over  the  desert  on  camels — 
say,  there's  a  moving  picture  for  you!" 

53 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Circassians  live  in  the  mountains,  and  they 
ride  horses,"  objected  Harold. 

"All  right,  they  're  fleeing-  over  the  mountains 
— on  horseback.  Mountains  are  better  anyway 
— you  can  have  'em  fall  over  precipices.  And 
along  comes  a  Greek  monk — on  a  mule — from 
Jerusalem — he  's  a  little  villain  with  oily  black 
hair  and — " 

"Hold  on!"  broke  in  Sandy,  suddenly.  "I — 
I  don't  want  that  Greek  monk  put  in  the  story." 

Jack  looked  at  his  companion  in  surprise. 

"You  don't?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  want  Jerusalem  put  in  either." 

McGreggor  took  out  his  gold  watch  and  studied 
it  with  irritating  deliberation. 

"I  see.  I  did  n't  know  you  had  bought  up 
the  Holy  Land,  Mr.  Evans.  You  ought  to  have 
told  me." 

Harold's  face  grew  white  at  this  sarcastic  fling, 
and,  for  a  few  moments,  the  two  boys  eyed  each 
other  steadily,  without  speaking.  The  thing  had 
come  so  suddenly  that  neither  Jack  nor  Sandy 
knew  exactly  what  had  happened,  but  both  real 
ized,  by  that  strange  subconscious  understand 
ing  possessed  by  boys,  that  something  had  shifted, 
and — it  was  the  first  warning  of  the  gathering 
storm. 

54 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    STOLEN    PURSE 

NOTHING  happened,  however,  at  the 
moment.  The  lads  separated  good- 
naturedly  enough,  and  when  they  met  the  next 
day,  there  was  no  trace  of  resentment  in  either 
of  them.  On  the  contrary,  they  were  more  than 
ever  friendly,  as  if  they  wished  to  forget  this  lit 
tle  tiff  over  a  trifle. 

More  than  two  weeks  had  now  passed  since 
Mrs.  Evans's  startling  disappearance,  and  the 
boys  agreed  that  they  could  gain  nothing  by  stay 
ing  any  longer  at  the  Mena  House,  where  they 
were  spending  about  eight  dollars  a  day. 

"We  'd  better  get  a  move  on,"  said  Jack. 
"We  Ve  got  to  follow  up  this  trail.  If  you  like, 
Sandy,  I  '11  get  the  tickets." 

And  now,  to  his  dismay,  Harold  discovered, 
after  he  had  paid  the  price  of  his  ticket  and 
settled  his  hotel  bill,  that  he  had  only  a  little  over 
a  hundred  dollars  left. 

Jack    noticed    his    friend's    anxious    look   and 

55 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

broached  the  subject  of  money  as  delicately  as 
he  could. 

"See  here,  old  boy,  we  're  going  into  this  thing 
together,  a  sort  of  partnership — share  and  share 
alike — am  I  right  ?  We  'd  better  see  how  we 
stand.  What 's  mine  is  yours,  and— 

''That 's  the  trouble,"  smiled  Sandy,  ruefully. 
"What 's  mine  is  yours,  too,  but — there  is  n't 
enough  of  it.  There !"  He  drewr  out  a  handful 
of  English  sovereigns  from  his  pocket  and 
spread  them  on  the  table. 

"That 's  enough  for  pocket-money,"  said  Mc- 
Greggor. 

"It  is  n't  pocket-money." 

"But — you  have  a  letter  of  credit?" 

"No."  " 

"You  have  circular  notes — or  something?" 

Harold  shook  his  head  wearily. 

"No.  That 's  all  I  have  in  the  world — every 
cent  I  have  in  the  world,  so  when  you  talk  about 
divvying  up  on  your  three  thousand  dollars- 
Jack  coughed  apologetically. 

"I  said  I  had  three  thousand  dollars  when  I 
left  Chicago.  That  was  two  months  ago.  It 
costs  five  dollars  a  day  to  live." 

"Sixty  days  at  five  dollars  a  day,"  calculated 
Sandy,  "that 's  three  hundred  dollars." 

56 


THE  STOLEN  PURSE 

"And  my  traveling  expenses — that 's  three 
hundred  more." 

"Six  hundred." 

"And  two  hundred  and  fifty  for  my  moving- 
picture  outfit." 

"Eight  hundred  and  fifty." 

Jack  pulled  reflectively  at  his  under  lip. 

"You  have  n't  counted  incidentals,"  he  said 
finally.  "You  must  add  about — er — five  hundred 
dollars  for  incidentals." 

Harold  stared  at  him. 

"Five  hundred  dollars  for  incidentals — in  sixty 
days?" 

"Tell  you  the  truth,  old  boy,  I  went  pretty  fast 
on  incidentals.  I  spent  a  week  in  London.  It 's 
a  dingy  old  town,  but  they  have  a  great  line  of 
tailors,  and — er — I  rather  blew  myself  on  clothes 
—about  seventy  pounds,  there  or  thereabouts." 

"Whew !     Three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars !" 

"And  then  I  met  a  man  in  Paris,  an  American 
dentist  named  T.  Beverly  Hickman  from  Chi 
cago.  I  guess  I  '11  remember  T.  Beverly  Hick 
man." 

"Why,  what  did  he  do?" 

Jack  shut  his  lips  tight  and  nodded  grimly. 

"Do?  He  did  me!  Gave  me  a  fairy  tale 
about  how  he  'd  lost  all  his  money,  and  could  n't 

57 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

get  home,  and  his  wife  and  children  were  starving. 
Anyhow,  he  got  two  hundred  dollars  out  of  me, 
and  then  I  found  out  that  he  'd  made  up  the 
whole  story.  I  may  meet  T.  Beverly  some  day, 
and  if  I  do — "  There  was  a  world  of  significance 
in  the  flash  of  McGreggor's  keen,  gray  eyes. 

"Too  bad!"  sympathized  Sandy.  "Anyhow, 
you  Ve  spent — let 's  see — eight  hundred  and  fifty 
and  five  hundred  and  fifty — that 's  fourteen  hun 
dred  dollars  of  your  three  thousand?" 

"Right !  I  Ve  got  sixteen  hundred  left.  And 
your  hundred  makes  seventeen  hundred.  We 
have  seventeen  hundred  dollars  between  us. 
Sandy,  to  pull  this  thing  off.  I  mean  to  find  your 
father  and  mother  and  get  the — er — the  moving- 
picture  stuff." 

"Can  we  do  it?" 

Jack  smiled  in  a  superior  way.  "Can  we  do 
it  ?  With  the  chances  we  Ve  got  ?  And  Deeny 
to  help  us?  And  that  pointer  from  the  third 
chamber  of  the  pyramid?  Sure  we  can  do  it!" 

McGreggor's  confidence  reassured  Harold 
against  his  own  misgivings,  and,  with  a  business 
like  hand-shake,  the  boys  agreed  to  pull  together 
loyally  in  this  strange  partnership. 

Two  days  before  their  steamer  was  to  sail  for 
Jaffa  (the  port  of  Jerusalem),  the  young  travel- 

58 


THE  STOLEN  PURSE 

ers  moved  to  the  Grand  Hotel  in  Cairo,  and  here, 
on  the  very  evening  of  their  arrival,  Jack  Mc- 
Greggor  got  himself  into  an  adventure  that 
nearly  spoiled  their  friendship  and  almost 
wrecked  the  expedition. 

They  had  dined  comfortably,  and,  about  nine 
o'clock,  Jack  proposed  a  stroll  through  the 
languorous  Esbekieh  gardens.  Sandy  would 
have  loved  this,  but  his  sense  of  duty  bade  him 
go  to  his  room  and  answer  a  letter  that  had 
just  arrived  from  the  American  Missionary 
Board  in  Constantinople  in  regard  to  Mrs.  Evans. 
So  Jack  went  off  for  his  stroll  alone. 

About  two  hours  later,  as  Sandy  was  preparing 
for  bed  and  wondering  what  had  become  of  his 
restless  companion,  he  heard  an  angry  muttering 
on  the  stairs,  and  presently  McGreggor  burst  into 
the  room  in  a  lamentable  state,  his  clothes  torn 
and  his  face  cut.  He  was  panting  with  rage. 

"The  scoundrels !  The  devils !"  he  cried. 
"Look  at  me,  Sandy!" 

Young  Evans  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Who  did  it?     Who  did  it?" 

"A  gang  of  robbers — thieves.  I  was  walking 
in  the  gardens  when  a  little  chap  came  along 
selling  flowers — double  geraniums  and  gardenias, 
any — anyhow,  I  bought  a  shilling's  worth,  and 

59 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 


A  street  in  Cairo. 


— I  guess  I  let  him  see  that  I  had  plenty  of 
money.  Well,  he  went  away,  I  thought,  but 
about  three  minutes  later,  as  I  was  looking  down 

60 


THE  STOLEN  PURSE 

one  of  those  queer  narrow  streets  with  carved 
balconies — you  know — " 

"Yes,  yes." 

"Up  comes  this  same  little  chap  again,  calling, 
'Murican  gent'man!  Murican  gent'man!'  and 
he  grabs  my  hand  and  points  down  the  street. 
Just  then  one  of  those  heavy  iron-barred  doors 
in  the  wall  swung  open  and  three  men  ran  out, 
a  white  man  in  European  dress  and  two  Arabs. 
The  white  man  was  trying  to  get  away  from  the 
other  two,  but  they  held  him.  He  kept  calling, 
'help,'  and  I  thought  he  was  an  American. 

"I  was  feeling  pretty  fit,  and  I  figured  we  'd  be 
all  right  two  to  two.  Besides,  you  can't  turn 
your  back  on  an  American  in  trouble — you  did  n't, 
Sandy." 

"Go  on." 

"So  I  jumped  ahead  and  stood  by  the  white 
man,  and  as  soon  as  I  came  up,  the  two  Arabs 
stepped  back. 

"  'What 's  the  matter  ?'  I  asked. 

"The  white  man  mumbled  something,  and,  be 
fore  I  knew  it,  the  Arabs  had  caught  me  from 
behind  so  I  could  n't  move  or  yell  or  anything, 
and  then  the  fellow  I  thought  was  an  American 
—a  fine  kind  of  an  American  he  was — he  went 
through  my  clothes.  Made  a  good  haul,  too,  my 

61 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

pearl  scarf-pin  set  with  diamonds,  and  my  gold 
watch,  and  five  hundred  dollars." 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Sandy. 

"I  drew  out  the  money  to-day,  Bank  of  Eng 
land  notes,  so  we  'd  have  enough  for  our 
trip.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have  used  my  fists! 
But  they  held  me  tight,  and,  when  they  'd  cleaned 
me  out,  they  chucked  me  down  in  the  gutter  and 
skipped  through  the  big  gate  back  into  the  house." 

Jack  sank  weakly  into  a  chair.  He  was  al 
most  crying  with  anger  and  humiliation. 

"Brutes !"  muttered  Sandy.  "We  '11  make 
somebody  pay  for  this !" 

"That 's  what !  We  '11  go  to  the  police  station. 
Come  on,  Sandy!"  McGreggor  started  for  the 
door. 

"Wait !  I  've  got  an  idea  that — I  guess  it  beats 
the  police  station."  Harold  thought  a  moment. 
"It  does !  It  beats  it !  We  '11  be  our  own  police 
and  our  own  detectives,"  went  on  Sandy.  "And 
it  might  make  a  moving-picture  story,  too.  It 
would !" 

Jack  shook  his  head  disapprovingly. 

"See  here,  this  is  n't  a  dime  novel.  It  was  real 
money  I  lost,  and  a  real  watch,  and  this  is  a  real 
black  eye.  We  've  no  time  to  waste  on  pipe 
dreams." 

62 


THE  STOLEN  PURSE 

"Pipe  dreams?  Listen,  you  shop-worn  per 
son  !  You  say  they  're  a  regular  gang.  I  take 
it  their  business  is  working  lonely  wayfarers  with 
coin?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know !" 

"All  right.  What 's  the  matter  with  letting 
'em  work  me?" 

"Work  you?     You  mean— 

"With  you  and  Deeny  trailing  after?     Eh?" 

"Deeny!"  repeated  Jack,  and  a  grin  spread 
over  his  battered  countenance  as  he  began  to  get 
the  idea.  He  saw  visions  of  what  the  huge  Turk 
would  do  to  these  prowling  scamps  if  he  ever 
laid  hands  on  them. 

"By  gracious,  you're  right,  Sandy!  And  it 
does  make  a  picture  story,  a  peach!" 

"I  '11  get  Nasr-ed-Din  and  give  him  his  line 
of  work,"  said  Sandy.  "We  have  n't  any  time 
to  lose.  It 's  nearly  midnight." 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  a  well-dressed  young 
American  might  have  been  seen  wandering 
through  the  now  almost  deserted  Esbekieh  gar 
dens.  On  his  waistcoat  flashed  a  gold  watch- 
chain  which  ended  in  a  Waterbury  watch,  but  no 
one  knew  this.  The  youth  wandered  on,  leaving 
his  coat  carelessly  open,  and  presently  there  be 
gan  an  Egyptian  version  of  that  always  inter- 

63 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

esting  farce,  "The  Biter  Bit."  The  little  flower- 
seller  came  forward  pleadingly,  as  before,  the 
three  robbers  appeared  in  the  narrow  street, 
tumultuously,  as  before,  the  youth  answered  the 
call  for  help  chivalrously,  as  before,  but,  at  this 
point,  the  sequence  of  events  changed  abruptly 
with  the  emerging  of  two  crouching  figures  from 
the  shadows.  One  of  them  carried  a  pistol  and 
the  other  came  armed  with  the  terrible  strength 
that  nature  had  given  him. 

"Now,  Deeny!"  shouted  Harold,  suddenly, 
while  Jack  sprang  forward  leveling  his  pistol. 

"One!  two!  three!"  counted  McGreggor, 
slowly,  as  three  times  the  Turk  smote  from  the 
shoulder,  and  the  three  ruffians  fell  groaning. 

Jack  came  forward  and  knelt  over  his  pros 
trate  adversary  and  quickly  opened  his  coat. 

"Now,  my  friend,"  he  remarked,  pleasantly, 
"you  see  the  boot  is  on  the  other  foot.  I  '11  just 
take  back  my  property — this  pocket,  I  remember. 
No,  no!  Don't  use  little  hands.  Now  then! 
Ah!  Scarf-pin — watch — and  the  pocketbook! 
Everything  just  as  it  was." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  motioned  to  Harold, 
who  was  standing  guard  over  the  two  Arabs. 

"All  right,  Sandy."  Then  to  the  white  man, 
cringing  at  his  feet,  "You  hound!  Now  go!" 


THE  STOLEN  PURSE 


"One  !  two  !  three  !"  counted  McGreggor,  slowly. 

With  a  swift  gesture,  Harold  gave  the  same 
order  to  the  two  terror-stricken  Arabs,  and,  a 

65 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

moment  later,  the  discomfited  trio  were  scurry 
ing  away  into  the  night. 

"Well,  we  pulled  it  off,  old  boy!"  rejoiced 
McGreggor  as  they  returned  through  the  gar 
dens. 

"We  certainly  did." 

"Say,  was  n't  Deeny  magnificent!  I  believe  he 
could  have  picked  those  fellows  up  and  pitched 
'em  clean  over  the  wall.  You  're  all  right, 
Deeny!"  Jack  turned  to  the  big  Turk  with  a 
gesture  of  high  commendation,  at  which  Nasr- 
ed-Din's  usually  impassive  face  lighted  up  with 
pleasure,  and  he  salaamed  and  saluted  with  all 
his  soul. 

So  exultant  were  the  boys  over  this  success, 
that  they  talked  of  their  dangerous  coup  long 
after  they  had  returned  to  their  rooms ;  they  even 
acted  out  the  scenes  of  it. 

"We  must  remember  every  bit  of  it;  we  must 
write  it  down,"  urged  Jack.  "If  we  can  work 
this  up  in  a  big  way,  it  '11  be  a  top-liner  in  the 
moving-picture  houses.  Take  my  word  for  it. 
Two  American  boys  held  up  by  bandits !  Won't 
they  thrill  when  the  Turk  gets  his  fine  work  in 
and  the  boy  finds  his  purse?" 

Here,  with  a  grand  flourish,  Jack  produced  the 
66 


THE  STOLEN  PURSE 

stolen  purse.  "And  when  he  finds  the  nice,  crisp 
bank-notes  just  as  he  left  'em!" 

He  opened  the  purse  and  drew  out  a  bundle  of 
bank-notes.  But,  suddenly,  his  whole  expression 
changed. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  cried,  counting  the  notes 
with  feverish  haste. 

"What 's  the  matter?     What  is  it?" 

For  several  moments  Jack  eyed  his  friend  in 
solemn  silence.  Then  he  said  slowly:  "Sandy, 
/  knoiv  I  had  five  hundred  dollars — that 's  a  hun 
dred  pounds — in  this  purse.  A  hundred  pounds, 
no  more,  no  less.  I  know  just  what  I  had." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  it 's  my  purse,  all  right,  but — Sandy, 
there  are  two  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  in  it 
now!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    STORM    BREAKS 

TWO  hundred  and  sixty  pounds!"  repeated 
Harold,  in  amazement. 

"That's  what  I  make  it,"  said  Jack.  "You 
count  'em."  He  pushed  over  to  his  friend  the 
pile  of  notes,  fives  and  tens,  printed  on  clean 
white  paper  with  very  black  ink,  as  is  the  custom 
of  the  Bank  of  England. 

"Two  hundred  and  sixty,"  verified  young 
Evans.  "There  's  no  mistake — that  is  to  say, 
there  's  a  big  mistake ;  there  's  a  mistake  of — of 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  Jack,  are  you 
sure  you  only  had  a  hundred  pounds  ?" 

"Of  course  I  'm  sure!  That 's  all  I  drew  out 
of  the  bank." 

"Then  we  Ve  got  a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds, 
eight  hundred  dollars,  that  belongs  to — those 
bandits." 

"Not  if  they  stole  it." 

"Well,  it  belongs  to  some  one.  It  does  n't  be 
long  to  us." 

68 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

"You  're  right  there,  it  does  n't  belong  to  us," 
nodded  McGreggor  and  a  grin  began  to  spread 
over  his  practical  countenance.  "Say,  this  helps 
the  picture  story  a  whole  lot." 

"But  we  can't  keep  it,  Jack — we  can't  keep 
it!" 

"N-no,  we  can't  keep  it.  And  we  can't  give  it 
back  to  those  scoundrels  either.  In  the  first  place, 
we  can't  find  'em,  and  in  the  second  place,  as  I 
remarked  before,  they  stole  it." 

"I  suppose  they  did,"  agreed  Sandy.  "It 's  a 
funny  situation." 

"I  '11  bet  those  crooks  don't  think  it 's  so 
funny,"  laughed  Jack.  "It 's  like  getting  real 
money  from  a  green  goods  man." 

The  more  the  boys  talked  this  matter  over  the 
more  perplexed  they  became,  and  they  went  to 
bed  without  having  decided  what  they  ought  to 
do  with  the  eight  hundred  dollars  that  had  come 
into  their  hands  so  strangely. 

The  next  morning  the  discussion  continued. 
Harold  suggested  giving  the  money  to  the  Ameri 
can  consul  and  letting  him  do  what  he  thought 
best  with  it. 

But  Jack  objected. 

"The  American  consul  won't  know  what  to  do 

69 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

with  that  eight  hundred  dollars  any  more  than 
we  do." 

"He  may  find  the  owner." 

"And  he  may  not.     Cairo  's  a  big  place." 

"If  he  does  n't  find  the  owner,  he  can — well, 
he  can  give  it  to  Americans  who  are  in  trouble. 
Lots  of  'em  get  stranded  over  here." 

"Great  idea,  Sandy !  This  is  a  fund  for  Ameri 
cans  in  trouble.  We  're  in  trouble,  so — there  you 
are!" 

Harold  looked  indignantly  at  his  friend. 

"I  did  n't  mean  that,"  he  declared. 

"Mean  what?" 

"Why,  you  say  we  ought  to  keep  this  eight 
hundred  dollars." 

"I  did  n't  say  any  such  thing,"  retorted  Jack. 
"You  said  the  money  could  be  given  to  stranded 
Americans  in  trouble." 

"But  it  was  your  idea  that  we  might  keep  the 
money,"  Harold  insisted.  "You  know  very  well 
that 's  what  you  meant." 

"See  here,  my  young  friend,  suppose  you  let 
me  be  the  judge  of  what  I  mean." 

In  McGreggor's  tone  there  was  a  note  of  sud 
den  defiance  that  angered  Sandy.  In  boys'  quar 
rels  it  is  not  so  much  what  is  said  as  the  way  it 
is  said  that  counts.  Here  was  a  deliberate  chal- 

70 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

lenge,  and  young  Evans  knew  it.  They  were 
right  at  the  danger  point  again,  but  this  time 
neither  boy  drew  back,  and  neither  used  concilia 
tion. 

"Very  well,"  answered  Harold,  angrily,  "you 
can  be  the  judge  of  what  /  mean,  too;  and  what 
I  mean,  Jack  McGreggor,  is  this" — his  voice  was 
steady  enough,  but  his  face  was  white — "what 
I  mean  is  that  you  can  take  your  airs  and  your 
money  and  your  moving-picture  outfit  and 
go-" 

Even  now  one  little  friendly  word  from  Jack, 
or  a  friendly  look,  might  have  ended  the  trouble, 
but  Jack's  heart  was  hardened,  and  his  answer 
only  threw  oil  on  the  fire. 

"Well,  where  can  I  go,  Mr.  Greek  monk?"  he 
asked  tauntingly. 

"Straight  to  Jericho,  for  all  I  care,"  flashed 
Harold. 

"I  don't  take  that  talk  from  anybody!" 

"You  know  what  you  can  do!" 

McGreggor  stepped  nearer  with  eyes  flashing 
and  arm  drawn  back  threateningly,  as  he  growled 
out: 

"If  that 's  what  you  want — " 

"Not  here  in  the  hotel,"  warned  Harold.  "I  '11 
fight  you  this  afternoon — anywhere  you  like." 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"All  right — out  where  we  were — by  the  pyra 
mid." 

"Pyramid  suits  me.     What  time?" 

"Five  o'clock." 

"Five  o'clock." 

"I  '11  meet  you  there — five  o'clock  sharp." 

It  was  shortly  after  four  when  Harold  Evans 
stepped  off  a  Gizeh  trolley-car  and  found  himself 
once  more  under  the  vast  shadow  of  Cheops.  He 
had  come  out  early  on  purpose,  so  as  to  be  alone. 
He  wanted  to  get  through  with  this  thing,  and 
then  never  see  Jack  McGreggor  again.  The  idea 
of  suggesting  that  they  should  keep  that  eight 
hundred  dollars ! 

Sandy  walked  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the 
pyramid,  but  turned  away  toward  the  palm-trees, 
and  then  turned  away  again.  Both  places  made 
him  think  of  his  mother,  and  a  boy  with  a  fight 
on  his  hands  does  not  like  to  think  of  his  mother. 

The  shadows  lengthened.  Some  drums  in  a 
neighboring  village  announced  marriage  festivi 
ties.  A  company  of  yelling  riders  circled  the 
plain  at  amazing  speed.  They  were  jereed  play 
ers,  part  of  the  two  days'  wedding  celebration. 

Young  Evans  sat  down  near  the  temple  of  the 
Sphinx.  He  wondered  how  he  would  come  out 

72 


" 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

with  McGreggor.  Jack  had  the  longer  reach,  but 
Harold  was  quick  on  his  feet,  and — he  did  n't 
care  anyway,  he  was  armed  with  the  strength  of 
a  righteous  cause.  McGreggor  had  insulted 
him,  and — 

Just  then  the  harsh  cough  of  a  camel  in  a  group 
of  Bedouins,  by  some  odd  association  of  ideas, 
brought  back  the  memory  of  that  last  meal  with 
his  mother,  there  under  the  palm-trees.  He  could 
see  her  face,  and  her  hands,  and  the  wonderful 
light  in  her  eyes.  He  remembered  how  her  voice 
had  quivered  as  she  asked  a  blessing  on  their 
simple  meal. 

Sandy  stood  up  and  stretched  himself.  This 
was  a  silly  place  for  a  fight.  He  ought  to  have 
known  better  than  to  come  here.  Of  course  he 
would  think  of  his  mother,  and — if  he  did  n't 
look  out,  he  'd  be  getting  foolish,  and — hello,  here 
was  Jack — climbing  off  the  trolley. 

Harold  walked  across  the  sand  toward  his  ad 
versary — his  friend — the  boy  who  had  offered  to 
divide  all  that  he  had  with  him  and  help  him  in 
his  trouble  and  loneliness.  This  fight  was  a  rot 
ten  thing,  after  all.  He  did  n't  believe  McGreg 
gor  had  meant  to  keep  that  money.  He  'd  like 
to  tell  him  so,  but— 

The  boys  nodded  coolly,  and  Jack  put  down  a 
74 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

bundle  he  was  carrying.  Then  they  stripped  off 
their  coats  and  collars,  while  an  Arab  looked 
on  indifferently. 

The  first  round  was  fairly  even.  At  the  end 
of  the  second,  Harold  came  in  cleverly  under  Mc- 
Greggor's  guard,  and  knocked  him  down.  At 
the  end  of  the  third,  he  knocked  him  down 
again. 

Jack  staggered  to  his  feet,  still  game. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Sandy.  "I  want  to  tell 
you  something.  I  think  I  'm  in  the  wrong,  Jack. 
I  wanted  to  say  so  sooner,  but — I  could  n't  very 
well.  You  might  have — you  might  have  mis 
understood.  I  don't  believe  you  ever  meant  to 
keep  money  you  were  n't  entitled  to." 

"I  did  n't,  Sandy.  I  never  meant  to  keep  it. 
I  give  you  my  word  I  did  n't,"  declared  Jack. 

"Then — then  I  apologize  for  what  I  said.  I  'm 
sorry.  There  's  my  hand,  or — if  you  want  to 
punch  me  some  more,  why — go  ahead." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  stood  waiting. 

McGreggor  answered  awkwardly :  "That 's 
very  decent  of  you,  and — I  accept  it — the  way 
you  mean  it,  and — there !"  He  caught  young 
Evans's  hand  in  a  strong  clasp. 

"I  've  got  a  vile  temper,"  mourned  Harold.  "I 
wish  you  had  punched  me  harder." 

75 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  punched  you  as  hard  as  I  could,"  said  Jack, 
ruefully.  "Say!  two  knock-outs  in  three  rounds 
is  going  some." 

Then  they  sat  down  under  the  palm-trees  and 
ate  sandwiches  and  cakes  that  Jack  had  brought 
along  in  his  little  bundle. 

And  now  a  strange  thing  happened.  The  sun 
sank  behind  a  mass  of  livid  clouds,  and  suddenly 
the  light  changed  to  an  uncanny  olive  hue,  as  if 
some  great  magic-lantern  operator  had  slipped 
a  piece  of  greenish  glass  before  the  sun.  And  a 
low  sighing  wind  came  up  from  the  desert.  Both 
boys  turned  uneasily,  and  at  this  moment  three 
distinct  taps  sounded  on  the  ridge  of  rock  be 
neath  them. 

"What  was  that?"  cried  Harold. 

"Sounded  like  somebody  knocking  on  this 
stone/'  said  McGreggor.  "Listen!  There  it  is 
again  1" 

"You  're  not  doing  that,  Jack — with  your  foot 
or  anything — are  you?" 

Jack  shook  his  head  solemnly.  "It 's  prob'ly 
a  bat,  or  a  ghost,  or  something.  Come  on ! 
Let 's  get  out  of  this." 

"Wait!" 

Sandy's  face  was  pale.  He  rose  slowly  and 
stood  with  his  hands  clenched  and  nostrils  dilat- 


THE  STORM  BREAKS 

ing,  looking  down  at  a  long  line  of  gray  rock  that 
stretched  away  toward  the  pyramid. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Now!  Do  you  hear  that?  Do  you  hear 
that?"  he  whispered.  "It 's  the  Morse  code,  one 
short  and  two  long.  That 's  W.  Somebody  's 
calling  W.  There!  There!  There!  Harold 
moved  his  hands  up  and  down  each  time  as  the 
taps  sounded — "one  short  and  two  long." 

McGreggor  turned  wearily. 

"What 's  this  got  to  do  with  us  ?  I  wish  you  'd 
come  along.  It 's  prob'ly  some  Arab  telegraph 
ing  his  camel  to  take  a  bath." 

Harold  flashed  a  look  at  his  companion  that 
brought  him  to  immediate  seriousness. 

"John  McGreggor,  four  years  ago,  when  I  was 
in  Adana — I  was  a  little  shaver,  but  I  remem 
ber  the  Armenian  massacre,  and — sometimes  we 
could  n't  get  from  the  compound  where  the  mis 
sionaries  lived  to  Father's  dispensary ;  it  was  n't 
safe.  So  Father  rigged  up  a  telegraph  line  about 
half  a  mile  long,  and  we  all  learned  to  click  off 
messages.  We  all  had  different  calls,  and 
Mother's  call  was  W !" 

"Great  Scott,  Sandy!  You  don't  mean — you 
don't  think—  Jack  stammered  in  excitement 
and  stopped  short. 

77 


"I  think  my  mother  is  calling  to  me  from  some 
where  through  this  rock,  and  /  'm  going  to  an 
swer  her.  Nozv  listen!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THROUGH  THE  ROCK 

HAROLD  drew  out  a  combination  pocket- 
knife  (it  contained  a  screw-driver,  a  but 
ton-hook,  a  pair  of  tweezers  and  various  other 
thing's)  and,  seating  himself,  proceeded  to  strike 
its  brass  head  against  the  rock  beneath,  using 
a  regular  telegraphic  movement. 

"My  call  was  M — two  dashes,"  he  explained; 
"I  'm  calling  M's." 

He  tapped  steadily  on  the  rock.  M — M — M — 
M— M— M- 

The  boy  paused  and  listened.  There  was  a 
moment's  silence,  and  then  came  the  answering 
letter,  sharply  sounding  through  the  silence  of 
the  desert.  W— W— W— W— W— W- 

"Hooray!"  he  cried.  "There's  no  mistake. 
She  's  here — somewhere !  My  mother  is  here ! 
Wait !" 

Eagerly  he  clicked  off  a  message,  while  Jack 
sat  near,  open-mouthed,  like  a  boy  at  a  melo 
drama. 

79 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Sandy,  what  are  you  sending  ?  What  are  you 
asking?  Tell  me,  Sandy." 

"I  'm  asking  where  she  is.  I  'm  telling  her  it 's 
me.  Keep  still." 

Now  an  answering  message  came  that  made 
young  Evans  frown. 

"What  is  it?  What  are  you  getting?"  queried 
McGreggor. 

"She  says  I  must  n't  ask  where  she  is.  Hold 
on!"  He  translated.  "Do — not — try — to — res 
cue  —  me  —  did  —  you  —  get  —  word  —  from 
— your — father  ?" 

With  quick  fingers  Harold  repeated  his  father's 
message  written  on  the  wall. 

"Thank — God,"  came  the  reply.  "You — must 
• — go — to — Jerusalem — at — once — answer." 

The  boy  hesitated,  and  a  little  gulp  came  in  his 
throat.  How  could  his  mother  ask  such  a  thing ! 
He  turned  to  his  companion  with  a  flash  of  de 
cision.  "I  can't  do  it,  Jack.  I  can't  leave  my 
mother,  and  I  won't." 

"That 's  the  talk,"  approved  the  other.  "We  '11 
stay  here  until  the  Nile  freezes  over.  Tell  her 
so." 

And  Harold  tapped  out  the  words:  "Dear — 
brave — mother — I — cannot — leave — you." 

He  paused,  waiting  for  a  reply ;  but  none  came, 
80 


THROUGH  THE  ROCK 

"Jack,  she  does  n't  answer,"  cried  Evans,  in 
sudden  alarm. 

"Not  so  loud !"  cautioned  McGreggor.  "They 
may  be  nearer  than  you  think." 

"They?     Who  do  you  mean?" 

"Why — er — I  s'pose  somebody  is  with  your 
mother.  There  must  be." 

Harold  cast  his  eyes  uneasily  along  the  floor  of 
the  desert  toward  a  cluster  of  rock-hewn  tombs 
that  lie  at  the  base  of  Cheops. 

At  this  moment,  the  tapping  sounded  again, 
but  less  distinctly,  as  if  from  a  greater  distance. 
"Will  —  send  —  word  —  be  —  at  —  Virgin's 
— tree — Virgin's — fountain — " 

The  message  stopped,  abruptly. 

"Got  that,  Jack?  Virgin's  tree,  Virgin's  foun 
tain?"  Sandy  whispered. 

"Yes,  but  when  ?  She  does  n't  say  when  to  be 
there." 

"Wait!" 

The  clicking  came  so  faintly  now  that  Harold 
had  to  lay  his  ear  close  against  the  rock  to  make 
out  the  words:  "To-morrow — afternoon — three 
-  o'clock  -  -  put  -  -  on  -  -  hat  —  chilly  —  even 
ings — love." 

Then  the  tapping  ceased. 

"I  guess  that 's  all,  Jack,"  sighed  Evans,  after 
81 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

they  had  waited  a  long  time.  "We  'd  better  start 
back.  Is  n't  that  like  a  fellow's  mother,  forget 
ting  her  trouble  to  worry  about  his  hat  being 
off?  It  is  chilly,  too.  Ugh!  These  purple 
shadows  may  be  artistic,  but  they  look  creepy  to 
me.  Let 's  hustle." 

They  strode  rapidly  toward  the  trolley-car, 
hands  in  their  pockets,  each  absorbed  in  his 
thoughts. 

"Say,  here  's  a  point !"  broke  in  McGreggor. 
"How  did  she  know  your  hat  was  off?" 

The  boys  stopped  short  and  faced  each  other. 

"By  George!"  exclaimed  Sandy.  "I  never 
thought  of  that.  How  did  she  know  it?" 

"She  must  have  seen  us.  Must  have  been 
somewhere  where  she  could  see  us." 

"That's  so,  but— where?" 

On  the  ride  back  to  Cairo  they  discussed  the 
matter  in  low  tones. 

"I  wonder  where  this  Virgin's  tree  is,"  re 
flected  Jack.  "Ever  hear  of  it,  Sandy?" 

Harold  shook  his  head. 

"She  said  Virgin's  tree — Virgin's  fountain. 
There  must  be  a  tree  near  a  fountain.  We  '11 
have  to  ask  at  the  hotel,  but— 

"What?" 

82 


THROUGH  THE  ROCK 

"My  mother  can't  possibly  be  coming  there 
herself?" 

"No." 

"Going  to  send  somebody?" 

"Probably." 

"Or  a  letter?" 

"Maybe." 

"It  strikes  me  as  the  most  mysterious  thing  I 
ever  got  mixed  up  in,  Jack." 

"Me,  too,  Sandy." 

And  in  this  frame  of  mind  they  fell  asleep  that 
night. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

THE  boys  were  up  early  the  next  morning 
and,  having  nothing  better  to  do  until  three 
o'clock,  they  decided  to  see  some  of  the  sights  of 
Cairo  under  the  escort  of  a  hotel  dragoman 
named  Mustapha  who  wore  a  very  red  fez  and  a 
pair  of  ivory  handled  pistols  in  his  belt  and  who 
assured  them,  in  incredibly  bad  English,  that  he 
would  show  them  the  Virgin's  fountain,  the  Vir 
gin's  tree  and  other  marvelous  things. 

They  went,  first,  through  a  narrow,  pictur 
esque  street,  pleasantly  cool  after  the  blazing  sun, 
and  found  themselves  pursued  here  by  a  rag-tag 
company  of  Arab  boys  and  girls  who  proclaimed 
themselves  Christians  and  demanded  bakshish 
in  consequence. 

"I  '11  snap  some  of  these  kids,"  said  McGreggor 
who  had  brought  his  kodak.  '  They  '11  come  in 
handy  for  types  and  costumes." 

And  he  pressed  the  button. 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

Presently  Mustapha  stopped  at  a  heavily 
barred  door. 

"Deesa  chawtch,  sawh,"  he  announced  to 
Sandy.  "K'mawp!  Mine  yer  head." 

In  reply  to  his  pounding,  a  fat  Coptic  woman 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms  appeared  in  the  doorway 
and  showed  the  way  into  the  sanctuary. 

They  passed  inside,  whereupon  Mustapha  (still 
wearing  his  irreverent  fez  and  smoking  a  ciga 
rette)  pointed  to  a  square  cistern  in  the  stone 
floor. 

"Deesa  place  bring  de  folk  fer  battize.  Some 
leetle  poy  wanta  be  Chreestyun,  bring  here. 
Pries,  come  here.  Take  doff  cloes  laike  gemmen 
go  in  boff.  Wha  dey  call  battize?" 

"Go  on,  Musty !  You  're  great !"  chuckled 
Jack.  "Show  us  some  more." 

Beaming  at  this  praise,  Mustapha  lighted  a 
candle  and  led  the  way  to  a  pillared  vault  beneath 
the  chancel.  At  either  side  were  small  recesses 
hewn  in  the  rock. 

"Deesa  place  tousan  yeah  before  chawch. 
Dat  's  place  fer  Vawgin  Mahy  sleep.  Deesa 
place  fer  Jozef  sleep."  He  pointed  to  the  re 
cesses. 

"Hold  on,  Musty,  you  can't  give  us  that,"  ob- 

85 


THE  LAXD  OF  MYSTERY 

jected  McGreggor.  "There  is  n't  room  for  a  doll 
to  sleep  there.  Is  there,  Sandy?" 

Harold  agreed  that  these  were  scant  sleeping 
quarters  for  Joseph. 

"What 's    this  ?"    he    questioned,    stopping    at 


A  Nile  ferry-boat. 

another  hole  in  the  floor  about  the  size  of  a  small 
barrel. 

"Dessa  place  Vawgin  Mahy  she  wash  does," 
Mustapha  answered  promptly. 

After  more  fooling  with  their  ingenuous  guide 
the  boys  set  out  for  the  beautiful  island  of  Roda 
in  the  Nile,  where  Mustapha  assured  them, 
with  reproachful  eyes  against  their  smiles,  that 
little  Moses  was  discovered  by  Pharaoh's  daugh- 

86 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 


ter.     To  this  island  they  drifted  on  a  heavy,  wide- 
nosed  scow  that  plies  across  an  arm  of  the  river. 
A  bare-legged  boatman  took  his  toll  of  two  cents 
each    with    kingly    dignity,  ? 
then    caught    the    long    oar 
astern,     and     bent    to    his 
work. 

"Look  at  those  women," 
said  Jack,  aiming  his  kodak 
at  a  dozen  silent,  black-clad 
figures  huddled  together  at 
one  end  of  the  craft. 

"Get    on    to    their    brass 


on 
nose-pieces 


whispere: 


Egyptian  woman  wearing 
brass  nose-piece. 


Sandy.    "Careful  !    They  're 

looking  !" 

"Got  'em  !"  triumphed  the 
young  photographer  as  the  scow  grounded  and 
the  Egyptian  ladies  hurried  off  toward  the  fra 
grant  rose  gardens  that  stretched  beyond. 

Soon  the  boys  were  gazing  at  the  finding  place 
of  Moses,  now  the  bed  of  a  horizontal  wooden 
wheel  geared  by  clumsy  wooden  teeth  to  a  verti 
cal  wheel  that  was  bringing  up  irrigating  buckets 
in  an  endless  chain  from  the  river  below.  There 
was  no  sign  of  bullrushes  here  for  Moses  to  nes 
tle  in,  but  a  sheer  descent  of  stone  wall,  thirty 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

feet  down  to  the  water's  edge.  Mustapha  ex 
plained  that  the  wall  was  to  protect  the  island 
against  the  river  in  its  annual  rise,  marked 
there  in  blackish  level-lines  along  the  preci 
pice. 

"Do  Europeans  ever  bathe  here,  Mustapha?" 
questioned  Sandy. 

"Yes,  sair,  sometimes  gemmen  take  boff." 

"It  looks  dirty." 

"Wh-at?" 

"Not  clean." 

"Some  gemmen  clean,  some  dirty." 

"I  mean  the  river  looks  dirty." 

"Oh,  river  'nough  clean.  Hotels  drink  heem. 
Khedive  drink  heem." 

"Say,  I  must  get  a  picture  of  that,"  exclaimed 
McGreggor  and  he  pointed  to  a  line  of  stately 
barges  floating  by  with  brown-skinned  men  swish 
ing  their  bare  feet  in  the  current  while  others 
hauled  at  the  long,  sharp-slanting  yards  poised 
over  stubby  masts.  "I  believe  we  can  work  up  a 
novelty  with  these  still  life  pictures,"  he  explained. 
"Have  a  fellow  tell  a  story  around  'em — maybe 
a  girl  would  be  better — the  way  they  do  with 
songs — you  know." 

A  little  later  they  had  luncheon  on  the  balcony 
of  a  charming  shaded  inn  overlooking  the  river 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

and  here  Harold  discovered  that  he  had  lost  his 
valued  pocket-knife.  He  remembered  that  he 
had  it  last  at  the  pyramid. 

"You  must  have  left  it  in  the  chawtch"  sug 
gested  Jack,  and  he  sent  Mustapha  hack  to  look 
for  it,  but  the  dragoman  returned  crestfallen. 

"Nobody  see  heem  gemmen's  knaife,"  he  de 
clared. 

Finally  the  boys  set  out  for  the  Virgin's  tree 
and  the  Virgin's  fountain,  which  two  objects  of 
tourist  interest  were  at  Heliopolis,  they  dis 
covered,  just  outside  of  Cairo  and  located  in  the 
beautifully  kept  grounds  of  no  less  a  person  than 
the  Khedive  himself.  As  they  drove  along  the 
white  road  barefooted  urchins  raced  beside  their 
carriage  offering  baskets  of  strawberries  set 
temptingly  in  green  leaves. 

"Berrees,  me  lord?  Berrees,  preence?"  called 
the  little  fellows,  and  finally  Jack  bought  two 
baskets  for  eight  cents. 

"I  '11  blow  you  off,  Prince,"  he  laughed. 
"Here!  Great  country,  eh,  Sandy?" 

They  stopped  to  inspect  the  oldest  obelisk  in 
the  world,  then  to  admire  flocks  of  the  white  ibis 
grazing  along  the  roadside,  and  presently  they 
came  to  a  wide-spreading  sycamore-tree  with 
thick,  gnarled  trunk  that  threw  out  its  grateful 

89 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

shade  near  a  clear,  gushing  spring.     These,  Mus- 
tapha  smilingly  declared,  were  the  Virgin's  tree 


The  obelisk  at  Heliopolis — the  oldest  in  the  world. 

and  the  Virgin's  fountain,  the  latter  being  used 
to  water  the  Khedive's  gardens,  the  former  fur 
nishing  an  income  to  the  Khedive's  gardener,  who 
collected  regular  fees  from  tourists  eager  to  see 

90 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

the  spot  where  the  Virgin  Alary  rested  in  her 
historic  flight  from  the  wicked  Herod. 

Harold  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  beautiful 
gardens,  the  banks  of  flowers,  the  vine-covered 
trellises,  the  towering  palms,  the  deep-shaded  ba 
nana-trees.  Everywhere  were  tropical  plants  in 
profusion,  and  roses  so  abundant  that  a  turbaned 
gardener  came  forward  offering  an  armful,  while 
near  by  a  group  of  boys  prepared  future  pocket- 
money  by  distilling  attar  of  roses  over  burning 
sticks.  Meantime  Jack  was  busy  with  his  kodak. 

"It 's  a  great  setting,"  he  declared.  "Say, 
Musty !  You  climb  up  the  sycamore-tree — there, 
on  the  first  big  branch.  I  '11  take  your  picture." 

Nothing  could  have  made  Mustapha  happier 
than  this  offer,  not  even  unexpected  bakshish. 
He  first  removed  his  European  outer  garment  (a 
sort  of  light  overcoat),  so  as  to  show  the  richly 
embroidered  jacket  underneath  and  his  for 
midable  pistols.  Then  he  settled  himself  on  the 
branch  in  plain  view,  and,  looking  heavenward 
with  as  much  lamblike  ecstasy  as  his  Oriental  and 
swarthy  features  could  command,  he  sat  per 
fectly  still. 

"Look  at  him,  Sandy!  Take  him  all  in," 
grinned  Jack.  "Is  he  a  choice  product?  Is  he? 
I  tell  you  \vhen  a  Cairo  dragoman  takes  to  posing 

91 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

as  an  archangel  on  a  sycamore-tree — well,  it 's 
worth  recording.  There!" 

As  McGreggor  pressed  the  button,  Harold's 
eyes  fell  on  what  looked  like  a  wasp's  nest,  a 
grayish  bundle  hanging  from  the  branch  where 
Mustapha  was  seated.  But,  as  he  looked  closer, 
he  discovered  black  lines  running  through  the 
gray  mass,  and  presently  he  saw  that  it  was  not  a 
wasp's  nest  at  all,  but  a  lady's  veil  tied  around 
the  branch. 

"By  George!"  he  started. 

''What's  the  matter?     What  is  it?" 

Sandy  consulted  his  Waterbury.  "Ten  min 
utes  past  three?  What  do  you  make  it?" 

"Twelve  minutes  past,"  said  Jack.  "Give  your 
mother  time." 

Sandy  shook  his  head.  "She  's  had  all  the  time 
she  wants.  The  message  is  here — there!"  He 
pointed  to  the  tree. 

"I  see  a  wasp's  nest." 

"It  is  n't  a  wasp's  nest.  That 's  my  mother's 
veil — gray,  with  black  lines  in  it.  She  wore  it 
the  last  time  I  saw  her." 

Sandy  sprang  into  the  tree,  and  quickly  climbed 
out  along  the  branch. 

"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that?"  mar 
veled  Jack,  as  he  watched  his  friend  untie  the 

92 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

flimsy  tissue  and  carefully  descend  to  the  ground. 

"Now  we  '11  see  what 's  in  it — if  I  can  get  these 
knots  untied.  I  feel  the  crinkle  of  a  letter. 
Hello!  Here 's  something  hard !  Great  Scott!" 

With  a  look  of  absolute  amazement,  Harold 
drew  forth  the  pocket-knife  that  he  had  lost  that 
very  morning.  Folded  around  the  knife  was  a 
small  blue  envelope  and  a  roll  of  money. 

"Jack,  it 's  my  knife !     The  one  I  lost !     Look !" 

McGreggor  gave  a  long,  low  whistle. 

"Say,  these  people  have  been  trailing  us."  He 
glanced  about  him  suspiciously,  and  added  under 
his  breath,  "They  're  probably  somewhere  around 
here  right  now." 

With  pounding  heart  Harold  tore  open  the  en 
velope  and  drew  out  several  sheets  covered  with 
his  mother's  handwriting. 

My  Precious  Son: 

I  am  writing  in  haste,  and  cannot  say  all  that  I  would 
like  to.  The  important  thing  is  that  you  must  trust  me. 
I  am  the  only  one  who  knows  the  circumstances,  and  can 
decide  what  is  best  to  do ;  and  I  tell  you,  dear  Harold,  you 
must  not  stay  here,  or  try  to  find  me.  If  I  were  in 
danger,  I  would  urge  you  to  call  at  once  upon  the  Ameri 
can  consul  in  Cairo  for  assistance.  But  I  am  in  no 
danger,  although,  of  course,  I  am  a  prisoner;  and  I  beg 
you  to  make  no  appeal  in  my  behalf  to  any  of  the  Ameri- 

93 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

can  or  English  authorities.  You  must  make  no  effort  of 
any  sort  toward  rescuing  me  or  communicating  with  me 
for  the  present.  It  would  mean  more  danger  for  your 
father. 

Harold,  I  want  you  to  go  to  your  father  at  once.  I 
am  so  happy  that  you  found  his  message.  God  is  pro 
tecting  us,  and  will  protect  us,  but  you  must  go  to  your 
father.  He  needs  you,  and  the  only  way  to  save  me  is  to 
save  him  first.  Be  brave,  my  son.  Trust  to  your 
mother's  love  and  to  her  knowledge  of  conditions  that 
you  cannot  understand,  and  do  this  that  she  bids  you. 
Do  it  at  once. 

And  remember  one  thing:  you  will  be  watched  from 
the  time  you  leave  Cairo.  You  must  not  let  any  one 
know  that  you  are  looking  for  your  father.  Call  your 
self  a  tourist.  Say  you  are  likely  to  return  shortly  to 
America.  And  do  not  keep  this  letter!  Fix  it  in  your 
memory,  and  burn  it. 

There  is  much  more  to  say,  but — I  must  hurry.  Be 
on  your  guard  against  a  smooth-talking  man  with  a  close- 
cut  dark  beard.  I  think  he 's  an  Armenian,  but  he 
speaks  perfect  English.  I  noticed  a  fine,  white  scar 
across  his  cheek,  but  the  beard  almost  hides  it.  The  scar 
runs  to  the  lower  part  of  his  ear,  which  is  rather  twisted. 
This  man  is  employed  by  our  enemy.  It  is  he  who  told 
me  that  you  had  sprained  your  ankle  in  the  Great  Gallery, 
and  made  me  go  inside  the  pyramid,  where  they  seized 
me.  He  is  a  dangerous  and  unscrupulous  man — be 
careful. 

My  poor  boy,  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  put  this 
responsibility  on  you.  I  'm  afraid  you  are  short  of 

94 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

money,  and  I  inclose  forty  pounds,  which  I  have  been 
able  to  borrow  from  a  kind  person,  the  one  who  has 
promised  to  deliver  this  letter.  I  shall  try  to  send  more 
money  later.  Go  to  Jerusalem  and  see  the  Greek  monk. 
Then  follow  your  best  judgment,  but  promise  me,  my 
boy,  that  you  will  never,  never  stop  until  you  have  found 
your  father!  Tie  my  veil  around  the  branch  where  you 
found  it,  as  a  sign  that  you  give  me  this  sacred  promise 
to  respect  my  wish  that  you  do  not  try  to  find  me,  as  yet, 
and  that  you  will  start  at  once  for  Jerusalem.  God 
bless  you  and  guide  you ! 

Your  loving  mother, 

MARY  EVANS. 

Harold  read  the  letter  slowly  and  carefully. 
Then  he  turned  to  his  friend  who  had  moved 
away. 

"Oh,  Jack!" 

"Yes." 

"I  want  you  to  see  this  letter — from  my 
mother.  We  have  n't  known  each  other  so  very 
long,  old  boy,  but — we  Ve  come  pretty  close  to 
gether,  and — there!  Read  it!" 

Jack  read  the  letter  in  his  turn — carefully  and 
slowly. 

"Well?"  he  said. 

"It  looks  to  me  as  if  I  Ve  got  to  do  what 
Mother  says." 

McGreggor  nodded. 

95 


"I  guess  she  knows  what  she  is  talking  about, 
Sandy.  Sounds  like  a  pretty  fine  woman,  your 
mother." 

"Well,  I  should  say  she  is  a — a  fine  woman," 
Harold  choked.  "It  breaks  me  all  up  to  leave 
her,  Jack,  but — what  she  says  about  Father  set 
tles  it.  How  about  that  boat  we  were  going  to 
take  for  Jaffa — it  sails  to-morrow,  doesn't  it?" 

"Yep.  Train  starts  for  Alexandria  in  the 
morning.  Go  on  board  in  the  afternoon  and 
wake  up  at  Jaffa." 

"Did  you  get  the  tickets  ?" 

McGreggor  nodded. 

"Tickets  and  passports,  too.  And  Deeny  's 
got  the  trunks  ready." 

"I  guess  we  'd  better  go." 

"Guess  we  had." 

"And  say,  Jack!  I  want  you  to  bear  witness 
that  I  promise — under  this  tree — by  this  spring 
— it 's  a  kind  of  sacred  spot — "  the  boy  bared  his 
head  and  lifted  his  fine  earnest  face — "I  promise 
never  to  stop  or  give  up  until  I  have  found  my 
father  and  my  mother.  You  hear  me,  Jack?" 

"I  hear  you,  Sandy,  and  here  's  my  hand  to 
help  you.  I  don't  care  whether  I  get  around  the 
world  or  not.  I  '11  stick  by  you." 

Once  more  the  boys  clasped  hands.     And,  after 


THE  VIRGIN'S  TREE 

studying-  Mrs.  Evans's  letter  so  as  to  forget  noth 
ing,  they  burned  it  solemnly  at  the  fire  where  the 
young  Egyptians  were  distilling,  drop  by  drop, 
the  subtle  perfume  of  roses.  Then  Sandy  took 
his  mother's  veil,  as  she  had  bidden  him,  and  tied 
it  to  the  spreading  branch  of  the  ancient  syca 
more  that  grows  by  the  Virgin's  spring. 


97 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TWISTED  EAR 

TWENTY-FOUR  hours  later,  the  two 
friends  were  aboard  a  Mediterranean 
steamer  bound  for  the  Holy  Land.  They  had  re 
ceived  valuable  help  from  the  American  consul, 
who  saw  that  their  passports  were  properly 
drawn,  and  gave  them  some  letters  to  friends  in 
Jerusalem.  He  also  took  charge  of  Mrs.  Evans's 
trunks  until  these  should  be  sent  for,  and  allowed 
the  boys  to  leave  with  him,  sealed  in  an  official 
envelope,  the  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  that 
had  caused  so  much  trouble. 

"I  don't  see  what  we  're  going  to  do  with  it," 
the  consul  declared,  "unless  some  one  turns  up 
who  can  prove  title." 

"I  '11  never  touch  a  penny  of  it,"  insisted  Jack. 

"Neither  will  I,"  said  Harold. 

The  consul  smiled. 

"All  right,  boys.  I  '11  hold  it  here,  awaiting 
your  order.  Maybe  you  '11  have  to  give  it  to 
some  old  ladies'  home." 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

The  very  evening  after  they  went  aboard, 
Jack's  zeal  for  picture  material  took  him  to 
the  forward  part  of  the  vessel,  where  the  deck 
passengers  sleep,  stretched  on  the  bare  boards 
under  stained  and  tattered  blankets,  or  lie  awake, 
chatting  and  smoking.  Here,  among  flickering 
lantern  shadows,  the  boy  studied  strange  types, 
long-bearded  Jews  sucking  at  water  pipes,  red- 
veiled  women  shuffling  greasy  cards,  noisy  Turks, 
sad-eyed  Armenians,  screaming  babies,  old  men 
munching  figs,  and  sleeping  figures  rolled  into 
still  bundles  alongside  of  smelly  goats  and  tur 
keys. 

Meanwhile  Harold  Evans  sat  alone  at  the  stern 
while  the  boat  throbbed  on  through  the  still,  warm 
night.  The  boy  was  in  a  serious  mood.  He  felt 
that  this  was  a  critical  time  in  his  life.  He 
thought  of  his  father  and  mother,  and  of  the  task 
before  him — of  the  dangers  before  him.  He 
hoped  for  courage  and  for  wisdom.  He  felt  him 
self  very  small  and  helpless  before  this  great  task. 
He  wished  that  he  were  older,  wiser — not  just 
an  inexperienced  boy.  Then  he  remembered 
his  mother's  wonderful  faith  and  his  heart  thrilled 
with  a  curious  new  confidence  as  he  looked  up  at 
the  silent,  serious  stars  and  suddenly  knew  that 
God  was  watching  over  him. 

99 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Harold  looked  down  at  the  white  path  the  ship 
was  cutting  in  the  sea,  and  wondered  what  made 
the  fire  spots  come  and  go  in  the  rushing  foam, 
now  little  ones  like  globules  of  burning  oil,  now 
broad,  round  ones  like  moons.  He  knew  they 
called  it  phosphorescence,  but  forgot  the  explana 
tion  of  it.  Presently  he  noticed  a  light  that 
flamed  up  low  over  the  water,  and  then  went  out. 
A  lighthouse  on  the  coast  of  Africa !  Or  had 
they  come  to  Asia  ? 

A  little  later  Jack  came  up,  eager  to  tell  of  his 
experiences  forward.  He  had  discovered  an  in 
teresting  Syrian  who  had  been  all  over  America- 
New  York  City,  and  Lynchburg,  Virginia,  and 
Yazoo,  Mississippi.  He  spoke  perfect  English 
— a  clever  fellow,  and — he  wanted  to  be  a  guide. 

"The  fact  is,  old  boy,  he  wants  to  be  our  guide," 
added  McGreggor. 

"We  don't  need  a  guide,"  said  Harold. 
"We  Ve  got  Deeny." 

"I  know  we  have,  but — he  saw  me  fussing  with 
my  camera  and — it  seems  he  knows  a  lot  about 
pictures.  Says  he  ran  an  art  gallery  in  Minne 
apolis,  but  he  went  broke." 

"We  can't  afford  an  extra  man." 

"Ah,  that 's  the  point !  That 's  the  queer  thing 
about  this  chap.  He  says  he  '11  work  for  any- 

100 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

thing  we  want  to  give,  or  for  nothing  at  all.  He 
wants  to  get  into  the  moving-picture  game  and — • 
well,  he  '11  take  chances  on  the  future.  I  told 
him  I  'd  talk  to  you  about  it,  and  we  'd  see  him  in 
the  morning." 

"There  is  n't  any  harm  in  seeing  him,"  said 

J  C5 

Harold,  quietly. 

"I  s'pose  you  're  feeling  sort  of — sort  of  broken 
up,  old  boy?"  ventured  Jack,  as  he  drew  up  a 
steamer  chair  beside  his  friend. 

"Oh,  I — I  Ve  been  thinking  about  things,  and 
— er— " 

"I  know.  It 's  tough,  but — I  tell  you  what 
pleases  me,  Sandy,  it 's  the  way  your  mother  was 
able  to  get  that  letter  delivered.  She  must  have 
a  good  friend  in  the  enemies'  camp  and — that 's 
a  whole  lot." 

"Yes,  it  is." 

"And  she  was  able  to  borrow  money,  that 's 
another  good  thing.  I  b'lieve  she  could  get  away 
if  any  big  trouble  came  up ;  I  'm  sure  she  could. 
She  does  n't  want  to  get  away  now  on  account  of 
injuring  your  father.  Am  I  right?" 

"It  looks  so,  but — what  gets  me  is  how  any 
man  can  be  fiend  enough  to  treat  a  woman  so  who 
—who  's  never  done  anything  but  good  to  peo 
ple." 

101 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Don't  you  worry,"  soothed  McGreggor. 
"He  '11  get  his  later  on,  Mr.  Fiend  will.  If  we 
can't  do  anything  else,  I  '11  cable  Dad,  and  he  '11 
come  over.  He  'd  just  love  to  get  into  this  game, 
Dad  would.  He  'd  have  your  father  and  mother 
back  with  you  mighty  quick,  or  there  'd  be  a  war 
ship  lying  off  Alexandria  with  the  stars  and 
stripes  over  her — now  take  that  from  me !" 

"No,  no !"  objected  Sandy.  "We  must  n't  do 
anything  like  that.  You  know  what  Mother 
said.  And  I  've  given  my  promise.  I  tied 
that  veil  around  the  tree,  Jack.  Besides,  I 
can  see  her  point.  The  people  who  have 
done  this  have  got  themselves  in  so  deep  now  that 
they  would  n't  stop  at  anything.  We  might 
spoil  our  only  chance  by  kicking  up  a  row. 
We  Ve  got  to  lay  low  and  let  them  think  every 
thing  's  going  their  way,  and  then,  when  we  see 
our  chance,  we  'II  land  on  'em." 

"We'll  land  on  'em  hard!" 

"But  we  must  find  Father  first,  I  can  see  that. 
Can't  you  ?  And,  Jack,  we  Ve  got  to  be  foxy. 
We  must  n't  let  any  one  know  what  we  're  after. 
Mother  says  we  '11  be  watched.  Remember  ? 
Remember  that  chap  she  said  to  look  out  for  ?" 

"Do  I?  Close-cut  dark  beard.  Scar  across 
his  cheek." 

1 02 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

"A  fine  scar,  Jack." 

"Yes,  and  a  twisted  ear.  I  '11  know  him,  all 
right." 

Sandy's  face  darkened.  "  And  now  what 
shall  we  say  about  ourselves  if  any  one  asks 
us?" 

"We  '11  say  we  're  in  the  moving-picture  busi 
ness,  and  we  are!  We  Ve  got  our  outfit  to  prove 
it,  the  dandiest  outfit  in  Jerusalem." 

"That 's  so!"  agreed  Harold.  "We  're  in  the 
moving-picture  business.  And — say,  Jack,  no 
body  must  know  I  'm  the  son  of  Wicklow  Evans. 
You  'd  better  introduce  me  to  people  as — er— 
Mr.  Harold.  That  sounds  all  right.  When  you 
call  me  Harold  they  '11  think  it 's  my  last  name. 
See?" 

A  little  later  the  boys  retired  to  their  state 
room. 

When  they  came  up  on  deck  the  next  morning, 
they  found  the  steamer  anchored  off  as  pretty  a 
fringe  of  murderous  reefs  as  one  would  wish  to 
see.  And  beyond  these,  laughing  in  a  blaze  of 
sunshine,  lay  the  ancient  city  of  Jaffa. 

Crowding  around  the  vessel  were  little  boats, 
tossing  uneasily  on  the  swells,  and  manned  by 
clamoring  Arabs  whose  business,  it  appeared,  was 
to  take  the  passengers  ashore. 

103 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Is  n't  there  any  harbor  here?"  asked  McGreg- 
gor. 

"Doesn't  look  like  it!"  said  Sandy.  "By 
George,  see  that  boat !  They  '11  be  smashed  to 
bits !" 

As  he  spoke,  one  of  the  little  boats  with  pas- 


The  port  of  Jaffa  at  low  tide. 

sengers  huddled  in  the  stern  shot  toward  the  dan 
gerous  reef  where  the  sea  was  breaking  fiercely 
over  black  rocks  that  stood  up  like  ragged 
teeth.  One  tooth  was  missing,  leaving  an  open 
ing  in  the  hungry  jaw,  and  the  boat  was  headed 
straight  for  this  opening,  as  they  watched  it  in 
tently. 

"They  're  dandy  boatmen  if  they  get  through 
104 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

there.     Great   Scott!     They've   done   it!"   cried 
Jack,  his  eyes  bulging. 

With  the  splash  and  lift  of  a  great  wave,  the 
sure-handed  Arabs  had  steered  the  frail  craft 
through,  and  now  they  were  floating  safely  in  the 
smooth  waters  beyond. 

"Bet  you  those  people  got  soaked,"  said  Sandy. 

"They  are  lucky  not  to  be  drowned,"  remarked 
a  passenger,  standing  near  them,  who  was  study 
ing  the  reef  with  an  opera-glass.  "It 's  a  nasty 
sea.  Ah !  there  goes  another  boat !  Would  you 
like  to  look,  sir?" 

He  offered  his  glass  to  Harold,  who  now, 
through  the  powerful  lenses,  saw  the  passage  of 
the  rocks  with  thrilling  distinctness. 

"Talk  about  shooting  the  chutes!  Say,  Jack, 
there's  a  moving  picture  worth  taking!" 

"It  would  be  effective,"  agreed  the  stranger. 
"The  surf,  and  the  rocks,  and  the  skill  of  these 
Arabs — very  effective." 

"Hello !"  said  McGreggor,  "you  're  the  man  I 
saw  last  night — you  know,  Sandy,  the  one  I 
told  you  about  from  Lynchburg,  and  Yazoo, 
and—" 

"And  New  York  City,  and  many  other  places," 
smiled  the  new-comer.  "Allow  me  to  give  you 
young  gentlemen  my  card." 

105 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

He  drew  out  his  pocket-book  and  handed  to 
each  of  the  boys  a  card  on  which  was  printed: 

MR.  ARSHAG  H.  TELECJIAN 

COLLECTOR    OF    RARE 
COINS     AND     STONES 

"Thanks,"  said  Jack.  "My  name  is  John  Mc 
Gregor,  and  my  friend  is  Mr. — er — Harold.' 

The  coin  collector  bowed  politely. 

"You  've  been  here  before  ?"  asked  Harold. 

"Many  times.  This  is  my  country — Syria.  I 
was  born  in  the  Lebanon  Mountains." 

"You  speak  mighty  good  English." 

"I  have  spent  years  in  America — some  happy 
years ;  but — I  had  money  reverses,  and — the  fact 
is  I  am  looking  for  work/' 

"So  my  friend  told  me." 

"  \Ye  have  n't  had  time  to  talk  that  over,"  ex 
plained  McGreggor,  "but  if  you  're  going  up  to 
Jerusalem,  Mr. — "  He  frowned  at  the  card. 
"Say,  this  name  is  a  bird.  Ar-shag  H.  Tel-ec- 
jian.  What's  the  'H'  for?" 

"The  'H'  is  a  misprint.  It  should  be  'M.'  My 
middle  name  is  Mesrop." 

"Mesrop?  Sounds  like  an  anagram — you 
know,  where  you  change  the  letters  around  and 
make  a  new  word.  Give  us  the  whole  thing — 

1 06 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

I  want  to  learn  that  name.     Go  on,"  laughed  the 
boy. 

"It 's  very  simple — Arshag  Mesrop  Telecjian." 

"Arshag  Mesrop  Telecjian,"  repeated  Jack, 
with  a  swagger.  "Bet  you  can't  say  it,  Sandy." 

At  this  moment,  Nasr-ed-Din  came  up  to  warn 
them  that  their  boat  was  waiting,  whereupon  the 
boys  invited  the  coin  collector  to  join  them,  and 
presently  the  three  were  safe  on  shore,  having 
passed  the  reef  unharmed,  except  for  a  ducking 
of  salt  spray. 

And  at  the  custom-house  Telecjian  befriended 
them  in  a  most  extraordinary  way,  for  while 
other  and  richer  tourists  were  subjected  to  end 
less  annoyance  and  delay,  the  American  boys, 
with  their  trunks,  bags,  and  picture  apparatus, 
were  waved  promptly  through  the  barriers  by 
smiling  and  salaaming  inspectors,  all,  apparently, 
because  of  a  whispered  word  from  Arshag  Mes 
rop  Telecjian. 

"Say,  you  managed  that  pretty  well,  Brother 
Ashrag,"  said  McGreggor. 

"Not  Ashrag,  Arshag,"  corrected  Sandy. 

"I  am  glad  to  serve  you,  young  gentlemen," 
bowed  the  Syrian.  "It 's  better  to  avoid  opening 
trunks.  If  they  had  found  revolvers,  for  in 
stance — "  he  looked  at  the  boys  keenly. 

107 


The  landing  at  Jaffa. 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

"We  have  revolvers,"  admitted  Jack. 

"They  would  have  been  confiscated.  And 
many  other  things — books — magazines — it 's 
quite  annoying1.  They  would  certainly  have  con 
fiscated  your  picture  apparatus.  You  know  the 
Turks  call  it  a  sin  to  photograph  the  human  face." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Harold. 

"Good  heavens!  Our  whole  trip  would  have 
been  spoiled !"  exclaimed  Jack.  "It  looks  to  me 
as  if  we  need  you  in  our  business,  Brother  Res- 
mop." 

"Mesrop,"  smiled  Sandy. 

"I  believe  I  can  be  of  great  service  to  you, 
young  gentlemen,"  said  the  coin  collector, 
gravely.  "If  you  are  to  take  pictures  success 
fully  in  the  Holy  Land,  you  should  be  fully 
acquainted  with  the  history  and  customs  of  the 
country." 

"We  have  a  man  with  us,"  said  Harold. 

"Ah,  yes,  a  Turk.  An  excellent  servant,  no 
doubt,  but  does  he  know  the  history,  the  Christian 
traditions?" 

"Are  you  a  Christian?"  asked  Jack. 

"Of  course.  I  was  educated  at  Robert  Col 
lege,  Constantinople.  Suppose  you  young  gen 
tlemen  take  me  on  trial  for  a  few  days.  Let 
me  show  you  around  Jaffa — we  have  two  hours 

109 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

before  the  train  starts.  And  let  me  show  you 
around  Jerusalem.  Then  you  can  judge." 

"What 's  the  lay-out  in  Jaffa  ?  I'd  like  some- 
thing  to  eat,"  said  McGreggor.  "I  Ve  got  an 
awful  appetite.  I  want  a  steak,  and  fried  po 
tatoes,  and  chocolate  with  whipped  cream,  and 
hot  waffles  with  maple-syrup,  and  a  lot  of  but 
ter." 

The  Syrian  smiled.  "I  'm  afraid  they  have  n't 
all  those  dishes,  but,  if  you  young  gentlemen 
will  come  with  me,  I  '11  take  you  to  the  cleanest 
inn  in  Palestine,  kept  by  a  man  named  Hardegg." 

"Good  business !"  approved  Jack.  "Lead  us  to 
Hardegg,  "Ash-car." 

"Ashrag,"  tittered  Harold. 

"Arshag,"  corrected  the  Syrian. 

They  took  a  rickety  carriage  with  a  thin  horse, 
and  drove  through  a  noisy  market-place  swarm 
ing  with  Orientals,  then  through  a  stretch  of 
orange  groves  bursting  with  luscious  fruit,  and 
finally  came  to  Hardegg's  establishment,  set  down 
among  gardens  of  brilliant  geraniums. 

"If  the  land  of  Syria  is  all  like  this,  I  'm  cer 
tainly  for  it,"  declared  McGreggor,  as  they  settled 
themselves  at  a  table  among  the  blooms. 

"It  is  n't,"  answered  Telecjian.  "It 's  very  dif 
ferent  from  this.  It 's  very  dry  and  bare,  most 

no 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 


of  it.     Jaffa  is  the  most  famous  place  in  Syria 
for   fruits   and   flowers.     It   is   also  a   place  of 
strange    traditions.     It    was    from    Jaffa    that 
Jonah   sailed  just  before 
the  whale  swallowed  him. 
Tt  was  in  Jaffa  that  Per 
seus  rescued  the  fair  An 
dromeda  ;   you   remember 
she    was    chained   to   the 
rocks?" 

"Yes,  yes;  but  how 
about  Hardegg's  eggs?" 
interrupted  Jack. 

"I  want  jny  Hardeggs 
soft,"  chuckled  Evans. 

A  tempting  meal  with 
delicious  honey  was  pres 
ently  provided,  and,  while 
the  boys  ate,  the  coin  col 
lector  told  them  about  the 
house  of  Simon  the  tan 
ner,  one  of  the  show 
places  of  Jaffa,  where  "Peter  tarried  many  days 
with  one  Simon,  a  tanner,  and  went  upon  his 
housetop  to  pray  about  the  sixth  hour."  Telec- 
jian  quoted  the  Scriptures  freely. 

Then    came    the   journey   to   Jerusalem,    four 
ill 


Syrian  woman  bearing 
water  jar. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

hours  up  a  little  mountain  railway  (for  the  Holy 
City  lies  half  a  mile  above  sea  level),  and,  all 
the  way,  the  Syrian  poured  forth  a  steady 
stream  of  information.  He  showed  them  the 
places  where  Samson  pulled  down  the  temple, 
where  Joshua  stopped  the  sun,  where  David 
killed  Goliath,  where  St.  George  slew  the  dragon, 
where  Richard  the  Lion-Hearted  fought  his 
crusades,  and  where  Napoleon  marched  his 
armies. 

"Say,  he  knows  everything!"  exclaimed  Jack, 
as  Telecjian  left  the  train  a  moment  at  Ramleh 
(home  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea)  to  speak  to  a 
Russian  pilgrim.  "He 's  a  wonder.  But  I  '11 
bet  you  can't  remember  his  name,  Sandy.  Go 
on!  Bet  you  can't  say  it  while  I  count  ten. 
One—" 

Harold  stopped  him  with  a  sharp  glance. 

"You  think  yourself  very  smart,  John  McGreg- 
gor,  but  if  you  'd  stop  trying  to  be  so  funny  and 
keep  your  eyes  open,  you  might  see  a  few  things 
that  are  right  under  your  nose." 

"What  things?" 

"This  man  that  you  Ve  been  playing  horse 
with — I  mean  his  name — where  do  you  think 
he  's  gone?" 

"To  talk  to  that  Russian  pilgrim,  Bet  you 
112 


THE  TWISTED  EAR 

Ashcar    knows    six    languages, — or    even    ten." 

Harold  shook  his  head.  "You're  easy,  Jack; 
you  're  the  easiest  boy  I  ever  saw." 

"How  d'ye  mean?" 

"He  has  n't  gone  to  speak  to  any  Russian  pil 
grim  ;  he  's  gone  to  send  a  telegram." 

"What?" 

"Yes,  and  he  's  not  a  coin  collector ;  he  's  not  a 
guide.  He  's  been  sent  here  by—  "  the  boy's  face 
contracted  in  sudden  anger — "by  the  scoundrels 
who  stole  away  my  mother.  I  Ve  been  sitting 
at  this  window  with  the  light  full  on  him,  and — 
has  it  occurred  to  you  that  Mr.  Arshag  Mesrop 
Telecjian  wears  a  close-cut  dark  beard?" 

"Great  Scott !"  cried  Jack. 

"Furthermore,  there  's  a  fine,  white  scar  run 
ning  across  his  cheek,  and  he 's  got  a  twisted 
ear!" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    HOLY    CITY 

THAT  evening,  in  their  Jerusalem  quarters 
(two  large  rooms  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  fac 
ing  David's  tower),  the  boys  held  a  council  of 
war  on  this  new  situation.  So  already  there  w7as 
an  enemy  in  camp,  a  shrewd,  unscrupulous  man 
sent  to  spy  upon  them.  Mrs.  Evans  was  right 
— thev  had  been  watched  from  the  moment  they 

»  j 

left  Cairo. 

"A  smooth  proposition,  Brother  Ashrag;  eh, 
Sandy?  He  'd  have  worked  his  scheme  all  right, 
if  it  had  n't  been  for  your  mother's  letter." 

"No  wonder  he  did  n't  want  any  wages,"  mut 
tered  Sandy. 

"Reckon  he  laughed  when  we  tried  our  scheme 
of  calling  you  Mr.  Harold." 

"Question  is,  what  shall  we  do  about  it?  Tell 
him  and  fire  him,  or — what?"  Sandy  thought  a 
moment. 

"Jack,  we  must  n't  tell  him.  We  must  n't  let 
him  know  we  suspect  anything.  It 's  part  of  the 

114 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

game.  As  long  as  he  thinks  he  's  got  us,  he  won't 
be  so  much  on  his  guard,  and  we  '11  have  some 
chance  of  getting  him" 

"How  do  you  mean  'getting  him'?" 

Sandy's  lips  tightened. 

"I  mean  almost  anything  in  the  way  of  doing 
Mr.  Arshag  Mesrop  Telecjian  up.  He's  the  man 
who  tricked  my  mother  and — started  this  trouble. 
I  think  we  '11 — hand  him  a  few  things." 

Jack  nodded. 

"Yes,  we  just  will.  And,  meanwhile,  we  '11 
keep  him  as  our  guide?" 

"Sure !  keep  him,  and  keep  an  eye  on  him,  but 
don't  let  him  know  it.  Next  time  he  sends  a 
telegram,  we  '11  find  out  who  it 's  to.  And  so 
on.  See  ?  Besides,  I  '11  tell  Deeny  to  watch  him, 
and — when  Deeny  watches  a  man,  he 's  watched!" 

"What  shall  we  do  about  this  Greek  monk?" 

"Basil?  We  mustn't  do  anything — yet. 
Basil 's  our  mainstay.  We  must  n't  go  near  him 
until  we  know  it 's  safe.  We  must  n't  speak  his 
name  or  try  to  find  him  or  anything." 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

"Hustle  the  picture  game.  Say  we  're  in  a 
hurry  to  get  back  to  America.  That 's  true 
enough.  We  are!" 

So  it  happened  that,  for  a  week,  the  boys  went 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

about  Jerusalem  apparently  absorbed  in  taking 
pictures  and,  neither  by  word  nor  act,  did  they 
give  any  hint  of  their  real  purpose.  Day  after 
day  the  eloquent  Telecjian  followed  them  about 
ready  with  assistance  and  with  information  on  all 
subjects.  And  day  after  day  Nasr-ed-Din  (who 
rarely  spoke)  kept  a  tireless  but  unobtrusive  eye 
on  the  smooth-tongued  Syrian. 

Up  to  the  time  of  this  visit,  Jack  McGreg- 
gor's  conception  of  the  Holy  City  had  been  gained 
chiefly  from  two  hymns  that  he  had  learned  at 
Sunday-school,  "Jerusalem  the  golden,  with  milk 
and  honey  blest,"  which  was  hard  to  sing  on  ac 
count  of  a  high  F  sharp,  and  "O  mother  dear, 
Jerusalem/'  which  he  liked  much  better,  espe 
cially  when  they  set  it  to  the  fine  marching  tune 
and  the  organist  got  his  deep  pedals  going. 

"That  was  the  heavenly  Jerusalem  they  were 
talking  about,"  explained  Sandy  when  Jack  com 
plained  of  the  sad  contrast  between  this  Sunday- 
school  picture  and  the  actual  fact. 

"I  know,"  said  McGreggor,  "but  it  rather  jars 
you  to  find  no  water,  no  trees,  no  honey,  and  only 
goat's  milk  in  the  coffee." 

"I  saw  a  tree  yesterday." 

"One  solitary  palm!" 

"There  are  olive-trees." 
116 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

"All  covered  with  dust !  They  look  like  paper- 
trees.  I  wrote  Dad  that  this  town  had  no  fire- 
department  because  there  's  nothing  in  it  to  burn. 
And,  speaking  of  smells !" 

"They  are  pretty  bad,"  agreed  Sandy. 


Outside  the  wall  of  Jerusalem. 

"And  mangy  dogs !" 

"And  beggars !" 

"And  lepers !  Remember  those  we  saw  yes 
terday  outside  St.  Stephen's  gate?  Ugh!  Talk 
about  a  Holy  City !" 

"It  's  a  noisy  city,  all  right,"  reflected  Har 
old. 

"That 's  because  it 's  got  so  many  different 
kinds  of  people  in  it,"  explained  Jack.  "Say, 

117 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

professor,"  he  turned  to  the  coin  collector,  "how 
many  languages  are  spoken  in  Jerusalem?'' 

Telecjian  thought  for  a  moment. 

"On  a  guess,  young  gentlemen,  I  should  say 
about  thirty.  There  are  pilgrims  from  every  cor 
ner  of  the  world,  Turks,  Jews,  Armenians, 
Egyptians,  Persians,  Abyssinians,  Greeks,  Arabs, 
Soudanese,  Levantines,  Kurds,  Copts,  Yezidees 
— Yezidees  are  devil  worshipers,  and  all  the 
nations  of  Europe." 

"And  all  of  'em  in  the  streets  together,"  added 
Jack,  "all  jabbering  at  once,  without  counting 
donkeys  braying  and  camel  bells  jangling  and 
dogs  howling  and  geese  quacking  and  parrots 
screaming  and  buffaloes  bellowing  and  fourteen 
other  kinds  of  animals  mixing  it  up  in  the 
chorus !" 

In  their  first  excursions  through  these  tumultu 
ous  streets  the  boys  felt  themselves  lost  in  a 
labyrinth  whose  key  was  beyond  their  finding. 
The  ways  went  continually  in  curves  and  zig 
zags,  with  up  and  down  slantings  over  the  four 
hills  of  the  city.  And  the  house  walls  were  so 
high  and  so  close  together,  that  only  now  and 
then  could  they  get  sight  of  a  landmark  to  steer 
by 

"It  beats  all,  the  way  a  Jerusalem  street  will 
118 


Underground  street  in  Jerusalem. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

break  into  stairs,  like  a  stream  into  rapids!"  re 
marked  Harold.  "Then,  the  first  thing1  you 
know,  it  dives  underground  through  a  black  arch 
way,  and  does  n't  come  up  again  for  two  or  three 
hundred  yards." 


The  Golden  Gate,  Jerusalem. 

Thanks  to  Telecjian,  however,  they  soon 
learned  to  find  their  way. 

"It 's  a  small  city,  young  gentlemen !"  the 
Syrian  explained,  "only  a  mile  across;  and  it  is 
surrounded  by  high  walls,  so,  whatever  happens, 
you  have  only  to  walk  straight  ahead,  and,  within 
ten  minutes,  you  will  either  reach  this  encircling 
wall — with  its  eight  massive  gates — or  you  will 

1 20 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

come  into  David  Street,  which  runs  east  and 
west,  and  is  tolerably  wide — " 

"About  wide  enough  for  two  camels  to  pass," 
put  in  Jack.  "And  the  way  they  bump  into  you !" 

"Or  else  you  will  come  to  Christian  Street, 
which  runs  north  and  south,  and  is  wider  still," 
continued  Arshag. 

Jack  said  he  had  no  use  for  a  city  where  you 
could  n't  find  a  ball  game  or  a  band-concert  on  the 
green  or  a  glass  of  ice-cream  soda;  but  he  was 
forced  to  admit  that  Jerusalem  offered  fine  op 
portunities  for  taking  pictures.  What  types  and 
costumes  in  these  swarming  streets!  A  great 
photographic  hunting-ground!  And  all  day 
long,  the  boys  roamed  over  it  with  kodak  and 
moving-picture  machine,  for  Sandy,  too,  caught 
the  fever. 

"We  '11  come  near  to  paying  our  expenses 
with  the  picture  stuff  we  '11  pick  up  here,"  Jack 
declared. 

It  was  not  without  difficulties,  however,  that 
the  boys  got  what  they  wanted,  for  they  found 
that,  according  to  his  religion,  a  Mohammedan 
may  not  have  his  picture  taken.  It  is  forbidden, 
as  Telecjian  had  told  them.  But  many  things 
that  are  forbidden  may  be  had  and  done  in  this 
land  of  bakshish. 

121 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

It  would  happen  in  this  way.     The  eager  pho 
tographers  would  seat  themselves  under  an  awn- 


Street  scene  in  Jerusalem. 

ing  and  order  Turkish  coffee,  or  a  fruit  syrup. 
Beside  them  would  be  the  camera,  ready  on  its 
tripod,  focussed  at  fifteen  feet  with  the  sun  right 
and  a  suitable  background.  Then  it  was  a  case  of 

122 


THE  HOLY  CITY 


watch  the  human  stream  and  pick  out  what  you 
fancy.     Here  comes  a  Bethlehem  peasant  in  flow 
ing  rainbow  garments  followed  by  a  beggar  bare 
to  the  waist.     Here  is  a 
stately   Arab   with   black 
coil   around   the   tasseled 
cloth    that     swathes    his 
head.     There  goes  a  Turk 
from   Damascus  vending 
licorice   water   which   he 
pours   into  glasses  taken 
from  a  queer  brass  basin 
strapped       around       his 
waist. 

"Let's  get  him!"  Sandy 
whispers,  pointing  to  the 
Turk. 

"Good !"    agrees    Jack. 


i . 

A  Turk  from  Damascus. 


agrees 

"Oh,  Ashcar!  Tell  that 
chap  to  stand  here  in  the  shade  a  minute  and  I  '11 
take  his  picture.  I  '11  give  him  a  metallic  (one 
cent)." 

The  Syrian  does  as  directed  and  the  Turk  lifts 
his  chin  and  clucks  his  tongue  in  contemptuous 
refusal. 

"Tell  him  I  '11  give  him  tzvo  metallics,"  says 
Jack  calmly. 

123 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"No,  it  is  a  sin,"  replies  the  Turk. 

"Very  well.  Tell  him  I  '11  give  him  three 
metallics." 

The  Turk  answers  gravely.  "Man  is  made 
in  the  image  of  God.  It  is  against  the  law." 

"Good.     Tell  him  I  '11  give  him  four  metallics.''' 

"My  neighbors  would  scorn  me.  My  wife 
would  disown  me." 

"All  right.  Tell  him  I'll  give  him  five 
metallics." 

At  this  the  Turk  drops  his  voice  to  a  business 
like  tone  and  says,  "For  five  metallics  take  the 
picture." 

The  young  sportsmen,  to  their  surprise,  found 
even  greater  difficulty  in  getting  pictures  of  Jews 
and,  of  course,  their  work  in  Jerusalem  could 
not  be  complete  without  these.  What  studies 
they  offered,  these  descendants  of  Abraham  with 
their  grizzled  beards,  their  ferret  eyes  under 
bushy  brows,  their  curled  ear  locks,  their  thin 
bodies  forward  bent,  their  furry  hats  like  squir 
rel  skins  and  their  flapping  velvet  robes,  purple 
and  blue  and  crimson.  All  of  these  absolutely 
scorned  the  offer  of  metallics,  although  in  many 
cases  they  were  desperately  poor. 

So  here  the  boys  learned  to  win  by  strategy. 
124 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

They  would  wait  until  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  when  the  sun  was  looking  straight  down 
David  Street.  Then  they  would  station  them 
selves  at  the  Jaffa  gate,  past  which  the  Jews 
would  soon  be  streaming.  And  while  Harold 
held  the  kodak  carelessly  under  his  arm  (but 
ready),  Jack  would  point  enthusiastically  toward 
David's  tower,  or  toward  a  passing  camel  train, 
or  would  show  extraordinary  interest  in  some 
close-veiled  nun  or  Turkish  soldier  in  his  sentry- 
box;  and  all  the  time  he  would  be  saying  under 
his  breath : 

"Steady,  now,  Sandy!  Watch  the  mouth  of 
David  Street.  Don't  hurry!  Plenty  to  pick 
from !  Ah !  There !  Get  him  on  the  finder. 
Time  enough  yet !  He 's  watching  me.  The 
sun  's  squarely  on  him.  Fifteen  feet.  Now  land 
him!" 

And  the  click  of  the  shutter  would  register  an 
other  addition  to  their  collection  of  human  types. 

In  this  way  nearly  a  week  passed.  The  boys 
refrained  from  visiting  the  Holy  Sepulcher  nor 
did  they  even  inquire  about  the  Greek  monk 
Basil.  They  seemed  quite  absorbed  in  sight  see 
ing  and  picture  taking  and  more  than  once  Jack 
observed  with  surprise  that  Sandy  scarcely  spoke 

125 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 


about  his  father  and  his  mother.  He  little  knew 
how  hard  it  was  for  his  friend  to  keep  up  his 
reserve  (maintained  to  baffle  Telecjian)  nor  how 

many  sad  and  anxious 
hours  the  boy  passed  in 
the  silent  watches  of  the 
night. 

On  the  evening  of  the 
sixth  day  Harold's  pa 
tience  and  self-control 
was  rewarded  by  a  star 
tling  discovery.  They 
were  in  their  rooms  mak 
ing  plans  for  the  follow 
ing  morning,  when  there 
came  a  tap  at  the  door, 
and  Nasr-ed-Din  ap 
peared  and  said  some 
thing  in  Turkish. 

"Peck-eyi"  ("Very 
good"),  nodded  Harold. 
"Excuse  me  a  minute, 

Jack.     Deeny  has  something  to  tell  me."    And  he 
followed  the  Turk  from  the  room. 

Ten  minutes  later,  when  Harold  returned,  his 
face  was  troubled. 

"What  do  you  think  ?"  he  began.     "Here  we  Ve 
126 


A  peasant  from  Bethlehem. 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

been  taking1  a  lot  of  pains  to  keep  this  Syrian 
scoundrel  from  knowing  anything  about  the 
Greek  monk  and — he  knows  all  about  him." 

"He  does?" 

"He  has  sent  him  a  letter,  and  he  's  been  to  see 
him — to-day !" 

"You  mean  Telecjian  has  been  to  see  Basil?" 

"He  certainly  has.  Deeny  followed  him  to  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher — you  know  the 
Greek  monks  live  right  next  to  it — and  he  saw 
Telecjian  leave  a  letter,  and — afterward  he  went 
in  and  stayed  ten  minutes." 

"With  the  Greek  monk?" 

"Yes.  A  Turkish  soldier  who  took  the  letter 
in  told  Deeny." 

McGreggor  pursed  up  his  lips  and  pulled  at 
his  chin  in  perplexity. 

"Can  you  beat  that  ?  Our  biggest  enemy  goes 
to  see  our  best  friend.  Maybe  there  's  some  mis 
take.  Maybe  there  are  two  Greek  monks  named 
Basil?" 

Harold  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"No.  This  one  has  a  carpenter  shop  in  the 
church  tower.  He  does  n't  work  in  it  much,  but 
he 's  got  it.  Deeny  says  so.  He 's  the  man 
Father  meant  all  right,  and — the  worst  of  it  is — " 

"What?     Go  on!" 

127 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"You  'd  think  this  Basil  would  be  a  friend- 
to  us,  wouldn't  you?" 

"He  must  be.     Your  father  sent  us  to  him." 

"You  'd  expect  him  to  be  a  good,  kind  man?" 

"Sure!     What's  the  point?" 

"Well,  he  's  about  the  biggest  blackguard  in 
Jerusalem." 

"Basil  is?" 

"Yep.  Seems  he  stabbed  a  Franciscan  last 
year  at  Easter  time — you  know  they  're  always 
scrapping,  these  Holy  Sepulcher  monks.  And  he 
runs  a  fake  relic  factory  in  Bethlehem — turns  out 
crosses  and  rosaries  by  the  ton  made  from  olive 
trees  cut  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  in  the  Gar 
den  of  Gethsemane,  but  they  have  n't  cut  an  olive 
tree  there  in  fifty  years  and  there  are  only  eight 
in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane  anyway." 

"Did  Deeny  tell  you  that?" 

"It 's  a  fact.  Everybody  knows  it.  Seems 
this  Greek  monk  drives  over  to  Bethlehem  twice 
a  week  with  a  pair  of  fine  horses.  Oh,  he  's  made 
a  lot  of  money." 

"And  that 's  the  man  your  father  said  we  must 
see?" 

"That 's  the  man.  And  we  're  to  ask  him — 
there  you  are,  we  don't  know  what  to  ask  him/' 

The  boy  threw  up  his  hands  in  discouragement. 
128 


"Sandy,  old  sport,  we  're  certainly  up  against 
it,"  sympathized  Jack. 

Their  perplexity  was  increased  the  next  morn 
ing  as  they  were  standing  in  front  of  the  hotel 
by  a  remark  of  the  American  consul,  a  man  who 
had  lived  in  Palestine  for  thirty  years. 

"Here  comes  one  of  the  most  powerful  and 
one  of  the  wickedest  men  in  Jerusalem,"  declared 
the  consul  and  he  pointed  down  David  Street. 

"Who  is  it?"   asked  McGreggor. 

"The  Greek  monk  Basil,"  said  the  consul. 

"With  fascinated  interest  the  boys  observed  a 
tall,  powerfully  built  black-bearded  man  who 
strode  by,  wearing  the  square  black  hat  and  the 
black  silken  robes  prescribed  by  the  Greek  church. 
His  eyes  were  cruel,  his  manner  was  insolent. 
Two  gaudily  dressed  servants  ran  before  him  to 
drive  the  crowd  away.  He  looked  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left,  and  would  have  passed  with 
out  seeing  the  boys  had  not  Telecjian  coughed 
slightly  at  this  moment. 

And  now  an  extraordinary  thing  happened. 
The  Greek  monk  glanced  up,  and,  as  his  eyes  fell 
on  the  Syrian,  he  started  violently.  In  an  in 
stant,  his  arrogant  manner  vanished,  and  there 
came  into  his  eyes  a  submissive,  almost  supplicat 
ing  look.  Then,  bowing  to  the  coin  collector 

129 


The  wickedest  man  in  Jerusalem. 


THE  HOLY  CITY 

with  the  utmost  respect,  and  mumbling  some 
words  that  the  boys  did  not  understand,  the  monk 
strode  on. 


CHAPTER  XI 

UNDER    THE    DOME 

AS  soon  as  the  Greek  monk  had  disappeared, 
Harold  questioned  Telecjian  about  this 
singular  happening;  but  the  Syrian  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  insisted  that  the 
monk  must  have  been  paying  his  respects  to  the 
American  consul. 

Harold's  eyes  narrowed,  and  he  was  about  to 
make  a  hot  reply  that  would  have  swept  aside 
the  Syrian's  whole  structure  of  false  pretense, 
when  McGreggor  nudged  him  in  the  arm,  and, 
with  a  meaning  look,  reminded  his  friend  of  the 
need  of  caution,  whereupon  Sandy  swallowed  his 
wrath  and  said  nothing. 

"I  assure  you,  young  gentlemen,  I  do  not  know 
this  man.  I  never  sawr  him  before.  Why 
should  he  bow  to  me?" 

"By  the  way,  Ash-rag,"  said  Jack,  good-na 
turedly,  "I  wish  you  'd  go  up  to  the  room  and 
fetch  me  down  a  couple  of  extra  rolls  of  films. 
They  're  on  the  little  table.  I  b'lieve  we  're  go- 

132 


UNDER  THE  DOME 

ing  to  land  something  good  this  morning.'"' 
Then,  when  they  were  alone,  "Don't  be  a  fool, 
Sandy.  Don't  give  yourself  away.  Remember 
what  your  mother  said." 

"But  we  can't  go  on  with  this  fellow — now." 

"Why  not?  Strikes  me  this  is  the  time  to  go 
on  with  him — until  we  know  where  we  're  at. 
That  was  your  idea — to  watch  him,  was  n't  it  ? 
Well,  why  should  we  let  him  get  away  from  us 
just  because  he  's  turned  out  to  be  a  bigger  rascal 
than  we  thought  he  was?" 

The  wisdom  of  this  reasoning  at  once  appealed 
to  young  Evans,  and  he  agreed  that  the  thing 
for  them  to  do  was  to  go  ahead  with  their  picture- 
taking,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"It  gets  way  under  my  collar,  Jack,  but — 
you  've  said  it,  we  Ve  got  to  lay  low." 

"That 's  the  talk,  Sandy.  Let  this  Syrian  go 
ahead  with  his  program — he 's  got  the  day 
planned  out — booked  us  for  the  Mosque  of  Omar, 
I  think." 

"All  right,  but — something  's  going  to  break 
loose,  Jack,  pretty  soon.  I  feel  it." 

And  something  did  break  loose  much  sooner 
than  the  boys  imagined.  It  was  the  most  serious 
something  that  had  yet  befallen  them. 

"I  say,  professor,"  asked  Jack,  briskly,  when 

133 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Telecjian  returned,  "what  is  this  Mosque  of 
Omar  you  are  going  to  show  us?" 

The  Syrian  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"You  like  your  little  joke,  Mr.  McGreggor. 
I  'm  sure  you  have  read  about  the  Mosque  of 
Omar.  It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  one  of 
the  most  wonderful  architectural  monuments  in 
the  world." 

"Sorry,  old  man,  but  the  first  I  ever  heard  of  it 
was  the  other  day — from  you.  How  about  you, 
Sandy?" 

"Why,  I — I  Ve  heard  of  it,  but — I  don't  re 
member  much  about  it.  Built  by  the  Turks, 
wasn't  it?" 

Telecjian  sighed  wearily. 

"It  was  built  by  the  Phoenicians,  by  the  Baby 
lonians,  by  the  Greeks,  by  the  Israelites,  by  the 
Romans,  by  the  Crusaders,  by  the  Saracens.  It 
was  built  by  everybody  and  destroyed  by  every 
body.  It 's  been  built  and  destroyed  a  dozen 
times.  The  Mosque  of  Omar  stands  on  the 
debris  of  ten  civilizations.  Far  below  the  vaults 
and  caverns  that  underlie  it,  I  can  show  you 
stones  such  as  have  never  since  been  quarried  by 
the  hand  of  man,  single  stones,  thirty  or  forty 
or  fifty  feet  long,  and  ten  feet  square." 

As  he  spoke,  the  Syrian's  eyes  burned  with  a 
134 


UNDER  THE  DOME 

strange,  quiet  fire,  and,  in  spite  of  themselves,  the 
boys  hung  fascinated  on  his  words. 

"You  don't  consider  the  Mosque  of  Omar  more 
beautiful  than — what  is  that  church  in  Venice?" 
questioned  Jack. 

"St.  Mark's  ?  Yes,  I  do.  And  more  beautiful 
than  the  Doge's  Palace.  I  have  studied  them 
both." 

"How  about  St.  Peter's,  in  Rome?" 

"It  lacks  the  vastness  of  St.  Peter's,  but  it  has 
a  grandeur  of  its  own  and  a  unique  charm. 
You'll  see  for  yourselves.  The  Mosque  of 
Omar  is  the  most  mysterious  monument  in  the 
world." 

"Not  more  mysterious  than  the  Great  Pyra 
mid?"  challenged  Harold. 

"Yes;  because,  after  all,  the  Great  Pyramid  is 
only  a  tomb,  but  the  Mosque  of  Omar  is — zvho 
can  say  what  the  Mosque  of  Omar  is?  Once  it 
was  Solomon's  temple.  And,  before  that,  it  was 
Abraham's  rock  of  sacrifice.  And,  after  that,  it 
was  Mohammed's  ascending  place  to  heaven." 

"Say,  Ash-rag,  you  certain  deal  out  a  great  line 
of  talk,"  admired  Jack. 

"Are  we  going  to  see  all  this  to-day?"  asked 
Harold. 

The  Syrian  bowed. 

135 


The  Mosque  of  Omar  (Drawing  by  Jules  Guerin). 


UNDER  THE  DOME 

"I  have  made  complete  arrangements.  And  I 
beg  you  young  gentlemen  to  exercise  great  cau 
tion  in  taking  pictures.  In  fact,  I  must  advise 
against  taking  pictures  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  say !"  protested  Jack. 

"I  wish  I  could  make  you  young  gentlemen 
realize  what  a  serious  matter  this  is.  There  is 
nothing  in  the  world  more  sacred  to  Moham 
medans  than  the  Mosque  of  Omar,  not  even  their 
black  rock  at  Mecca,  which  Christians  are  never 
allowed  to  see.  They  would  fight  for  this 
mosque;  they  would  die  for  it.  They  would 
murder  Christians  with  the  greatest  joy  for  it. 
They  have  done  so  in  the  past  and  may  again. 
So  I  beg  you  to  use  caution.  We  shall  have  two 
Turkish  soldiers  to  protect  us — I  have  seen  to 
that — but,  even  so, — you  know  Mohammedans 
consider  it  a  sin  to  take  pictures." 

With  such  admonitions,  they  set  forth,  making 
their  way  down  a  narrow  and  filthy  street  at  the 
first  turn  of  which  Telecjian  paused  to  point  out 
the  grayish  dome  of  the  holy  mosque  rising  im 
posingly  before  them.  High  it  towered  over  the 
flat-roofed  houses  of  Jerusalem,  and,  on  the  east, 
looked  across  the  sad  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  with 
its  unnumbered  graves,  toward  the  Garden  of 
Gethsemane  and  the  Mount  of  Olives. 

137 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"What  makes  the  Mosque  of  Omar  different 
from  all  other  temples,"  explained  the  Syrian,  "is 
the  fact  that  it  is  literally  built  on — I  should  say 
over — a  huge  rock  that  has  never  been  cut  or 
polished  or  finished  in  any  way  except  as  nature 


View  of  Jerusalem.     The  dome  of  the  Mosque  of 
Omar  in  the  center  of  the  picture. 

finished  it,  millions  of  years  ago.  Above  this 
rock  the  great  dome  rises.  Encircling  this  rock 
are  the  octagonal  marble  walls  that  support  the 
dome.  Within  these  marble  walls  are  twelve  ex 
quisite  columns  that  encircle  the  rock  still  more 
closely.  Everything  is  for  the  rock,  the  whole 
leveled  space  that  covers  the  hill — Mount  Moriah 

138 


UNDER  THE  DOME 

— where  the  mosque  stands,  the  paved  courtyard, 
the  colonnades,  the  cloisters,  the  fountains,  the 
pulpits;  all  of  these  serve  but  as  leading  up  to 
this  rock.  Careful  now,  young  gentlemen !  I 
beg  you  to  be  careful.  We  are  near  the  en 
trance." 

At  the  outer  threshold  of  the  temple,  several 
white-turbaned  Moslem  priests  came  forward 
gravely  and  offered  felt  slippers,  which  the  boys 
were  required  to  draw  on  over  their  boots,  lest 
their  unbelieving  feet  contaminate  the  hallowed 
ground.  Then,  preceded  by  two  soldiers  and  sev 
eral  mosque  attendants,  they  crossed  the  wide 
courtyard,  and  presently  found  themselves  under 
the  lofty  dome,  the  "Dome  of  the  Rock,"  as  the 
Turks  call  it. 

For  a  minute  or  two,  neither  spoke,  they  could 
not  speak,  but  stood  in  hushed  and  reverent  con 
templation.  The  wonderful  stained  glass  of  the 
high  encircling  windows,  the  inlaid  gold  of  the 
dome  itself,  the  marble  walls  patterned  in  ancient 
mosaics,  the  Persian  rugs  spread  around  the 
graceful  central  columns,  and  the  countless  glit 
tering  lamps — all  these  appealed  strongly  to  the 
boys'  imagination. 

"Sandy,  it 's  great!"  whispered  Jack.  "This 
beats  anything  T  ever  saw." 

139 


Harold  nodded  in  silent  agreement.  It  was 
very  wonderful. 

And  now  they  moved  forward  softly  to  the 
circle  of  columns,  and,  over  a  gilded  railing, 


(Photograph  by  Bonfils.) 

The  great  rock  under  the  dome. 

looked  upon  the  great,  gray  rock,  "Es  Sakhra," 
that  has  been  reverenced  as  a  sacred  altar  for 
thousands  of  years.  It  is  a  shapeless  mass  that 
spreads  out  sixty  feet  in  length  and  forty  in 
width,  and  rises  some  twelve  feet  above  the  floor. 
A  crimson  canopy  hangs  over  it. 

"Ever  since  the  days  of  the  patriarchs  and  per 
haps  before,"  continued  Telecjian,  "this  rock  has 

140 


UNDER  THE  DOME 

been  a  place  of  prayer  and  sacrifice.  The  Mos 
lems  believe  that  Abraham  and  David  and  Sol 
omon  came  here  where  we  are  standing  for  spir 
itual  communion  with  the  Most  High." 

"Did  they — did  they  sacrifice  animals  here?" 
asked  Sandy. 

"Certainly.  Sheep  and  goats — all  the  temple 
sacrifices.  The  upper  surface  of  the  rock  is  con 
cave,  like  a  basin,  and  an  opening  to  carry  away 
the  blood  of  the  victims  has  been  cut  down 
through  the  rock  into  a  cavern  underneath.  Mo 
hammedans  call  it  the  'Well  of  the  Souls.'  We 
will  go  down  to  this  cavern  now.  Please  do  not 
speak !" 

He  turned  sharply  to  McGreggor.  "My  dear 
sir,  you  must  not  think  of  using  your  camera 
here.  It  would  be  absolute  madness !" 

Madness  or  not,  this  was  precisely  what  John 
McGreggor  was  thinking  of ;  in  fact,  he  was  slyly 
getting  his  kodak  ready,  even  as  a  frowning  Mos 
lem  priest  pointed  out  a  spot  in  the  rock,  calling 
it  a  footprint  of  Mohammed.  And,  as  the  priest 
produced  a  golden  casket  containing  two  hairs 
from  the  prophet's  beard,  Jack  was  deciding 
how  long  a  time  exposure  to  give  in  this  dim 
light. 

Just  what  happened  next  was  never  quite  dis- 
141 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

tinct  in  the  boys'  minds.  They  were  standing  in 
the  cavern  underneath  the  great  rock,  and  the 
Moslem  priest  was  explaining  a  marble  tablet  that 
commemorated  some  miraculous  happening. 
Then  Telecjian  pointed  to  a  narrow  downward 
slanting  passage  that  ran  from  the  cavern  to  a 
series  of  vaults  underlying  the  mosque,  and  from 
these,  he  said,  into  vast  subterranean  quarries 
that  had  supplied  the  stone  for  the  temple. 

"It  is  a  strange  underground  region,  something 
like  the  catacombs  of  Rome.  I  don't  know  that 
you  young  gentlemen  would  like  to  see  it." 

There  was  a  suppressed  eagerness  in  his  tone 
that  made  Harold  vaguely  uneasy,  but  McGreg- 
gor,  who  was  quite  in  the  exploring  spirit,  in 
sisted  that  they  certainly  must  have  a  look  at 
these  quarries. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Syrian.  "Here  are  can 
dles.  I  will  go  first." 

He  made  his  way  do\vn  a  slippery  passage  fol 
lowed  by  the  boys,  who,  in  their  turn,  were  fol 
lowed  by  one  of  the  mosque  attendants. 

The  downward  slant  continued  for  about  a  hun 
dred  feet,  then  the  passage  widened  and  con 
tinued  on  a  level  until,  presently,  it  ended  in  a 
heavy  iron-bound  door. 

"This  leads  into  the  quarries,"  said  Telecjian, 
142 


UNDER  THE  DOME 

and,  with  a  creaking  of  rusty  iron,  he  swung  the 
door  open  upon  what  seemed  like  a  black  abyss. 
And  from  this  a  blast  of  damp  air  blew  in. 

"Hold  on,  Jack,"  called  Sandy.  "I  don't  like 
the  looks  of  this." 

"It 's  all  right,"  came  the  Syrian's  voice  out  of 
the  shadows.  "Careful  of  the  steps." 

For  a  moment,  Harold  saw  McGreggor,  who 
was  in  the  lead,  stand  hesitating  in  the  black 
square  of  the  doorway,  then  his  friend  seemed  to 
stumble  and  plunge  into  the  darkness  beyond. 
There  was  a  heavy  fall,  then  silence. 

Young  Evans  sprang  after  him  in  alarm. 

"Jack!"  he  called;  but  there  was  no  answer. 
"Jack!" 

At  this  moment,  Harold  felt  himself  pushed 
violently  from  behind,  and  a  crashing  blow  on 
the  head  hurled  him  forward  through  the  door- 
wav. 


143 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    QUARRIES   AT    JERUSALEM 

AFTER  a  period  of  unconsciousness — he  had 
no  idea  how  long  it  lasted — Harold  came 
painfully  to  himself  again,  and,  opening  his  eyes, 
tried  to  see  where  he  was.  Absolute  darkness. 
Absolute  silence.  But  he  could  feel  that  he  was 
lying  on  a  rough  rock  surface.  And  his  body 
was  bruised,  and  his  head  throbbed  with  pain. 

"Wonder  where  Jack  is.  Poor  old  chap!  I 
s'pose  he  's  about  done  for,  too,"  the  boy  re 
flected. 

Harold  lifted  himself  slightly  and  rested  on  his 
elbow.  He  must  get  up  and  do  something — go 
somewhere — try  to  find  Jack.  Um-m!  His 
head  did  hurt! 

And,  suddenly,  as  the  boy's  eyes  grew  accus 
tomed  to  the  darkness,  he  made  out  vaguely  the 
shelving  outline  of  a  cavern  roof,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  dim  shadows  were  playing  over  it,  very  dim 
shadows. 

Harold  turned  his  head  and  saw  that  the  shad- 
144 


THE  QUARRIES  AT  JERUSALEM 

ows  were  more  strongly  marked  in  this  direction. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  it — somewhere  near 
there  was  a  light. 

Evans  rose  to  his  feet  and  groped  his  way 
weakly  and  cautiously  for  perhaps  a  dozen  yards 
along  the  cavern  floor.  Then  he  saw  distinctly 
before  him  the  outline  of  what  appeared  like  the 
huge  black  trunk  of  a  tree,  rising  from  the  floor 
and  reaching  to  the  roof  of  the  cavern.  It  was 
evident  that  the  light,  whatever  it  was,  was  just 
behind  this  tree-trunk.  The  question  was,  would 
this  light  prove  friendly  or  unfriendly?  It 
might  be  the  light  of  his  enemies. 

For  a  long  time,  Sandy  Evans  stood  still,  pon 
dering  this  question,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 
Then  he  sat  down  and  silently  took  off  his  shoes 
with  the  slippers  over  them — after  all,  stocking 
feet  were  better  over  rocks — and  then,  without  a 
sound,  he  stole  to  the  left  so  that  he  could  look 
around  the  tree-trunk  and  see  what  was  on  the 
other  side  of  it. 

The  first  thing  he  saw  was  Jack  McGreggor 
lying  flat  on  his  back  with  his  head  slightly  lifted 
as  if  it  was  resting  on  something,  and  his  face 
very  white  in  the  light  of  a  flickering  candle. 
And  bending  over  Jack  was  Arshag  Mesrop 
Telecjian  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  bathing  the  boy's 

145 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

forehead  with  a  wet  handkerchief,  and  appar 
ently  trying  to  restore  him  to  consciousness. 

Harold  came  forward  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Hello  there!  What  are  you  doing?"  he  de 
manded. 

The  Syrian  lifted  a  warning  hand. 

"Not  so  loud,  please,  Mr.  Harold." 

McGreggor  opened  his  eyes  weakly. 

"Is  that  you,  Sandy?" 

"Yes,  old  boy." 

Harold  knelt  anxiously  beside  his  friend. 

"I  'm  feeling  about  all  in,  Sandy.  I — I  got 
an  awful  crack  on  the  head." 

"I  know,  Jack.  I  got  one,  too.  You  '11  feel 
better  pretty  soon.  I  did." 

He  took  his  friend's  hand  and  stroked  it  com 
fortingly.  Then  he  whispered  to  the  Syrian, 
"Why  mustn't  I  speak  loud?  Is  any  one  else 
here?"  He  peered  suspiciously  into  the  sur 
rounding  darkness. 

Telecjian  turned  and  pointed  to  the  iron-bound 
door,  twenty  feet  behind  them,  and  now  tight 
shut. 

"Well?" 

"The  Moslems  w^ent  back  after  attacking  us." 

Harold  stared  at  him  in  surprise.  "Attacking 
us?  You  mean  they — they  attacked  you,  too?" 

146 


THE  QUARRIES  AT  JERUSALEM 

The  Syrian  pointed  to  a  cut  and  bruise  on  his 
forehead. 

"What  happens  to  me  is  of  no  consequence,  but 
I  regret  exceedingly  that  you  young  gentlemen 
have  suffered.  I  did  my  best,  sir,  but  they  were 
three  to  one,  and — the  attack  was  so  sudden. 
It 's  a  great  pity  you  tried  to  take  those  pictures." 

Jack  stirred  uneasily  and  breathed  a  long  sigh. 

"We  must  do  something  for  my  friend,"  said 
Harold.  "He  looks  to  me  badly  hurt.  He  needs 
a  doctor.  He  's  got  to  have  a  doctor.  Can't 
you  make  these  Turks  open  that  door?" 

"Make  them  ?  No.  And,  if  they  did  open  the 
door" — the  Syrian  showed  his  white  teeth  in  a 
sinister  smile — "if  they  did  open  the  door — it 's  a 
miracle,  sir,  that  we  're  alive  at  all." 

"Well,  is  n't  there  some  way  out  of  here?" 

"Yes.  There  's  an  opening  out  of  the  quarries 
near  the  Damascus  gate,  but — you  understand 
these  quarries  underlie  the  whole  city  of  Jerusa 
lem.  It  is  hard  to  find  one's  way." 

"We  must  get  a  doctor  somehow,  and  get  him 
mighty  quick,"  insisted  Harold,  now  thoroughly 
alarmed  as  he  saw  Jack  lying  so  pale  and  still. 

Telecjian  rose  and  said  quietly:  "Very  well, 
I  will  go  for  a  doctor." 

Harold  eyed  the  man  in  half  suspicion.     He 

147 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

felt  sure  the  Syrian  was  a  traitor,  yet,  in  their 
present  distress,  he  could  not  neglect  this  one 
chance  in  a  hundred  to  save  his  friend. 

"Go  on !  Go  on  then !  And — listen,  Telec- 
jian,  if  you  get  a  doctor  soon,  you  will  not  lose 
by  it."  ' 

The  Syrian  bowed  gravely.  "I  will  do  my  best. 
Fortunately  I  have  two  other  candles  and— 
this." 

He  drew  a  ball  of  twine  from  his  pocket  and 
proceeded  to  tie  one  end  of  it  securely  around  a 
large  loose  stone. 

"What 's  that  for?"  asked  Harold. 

"To  lead  me  back  to  you.  There  may  be  half 
a  mile  of  underground  passages  between  this  spot 
and  the  Damascus  gate.  I  cannot  be  back  in  less 
than  two  hours.  I  will  leave  my  coat — it 's 
folded  under  your  friend's  head." 

Harold  looked  anxiously  at  Jack,  who  had  not 
moved  or  opened  his  eyes  for  several  minutes. 

"Please  don't  wait  any  longer.  Go  as  fast  as 
you  can  and  bring  a  doctor  back.  Never  mind 
what  it  costs." 

The  Syrian  bowed  as  before,  and  it  seemed  to 
Harold  that  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  played  about 
his  lips,  as  he  said:  "I  will  leave  this  pistol.  I 
trust  you  will  not  need  it,  but — here,  sir." 

148 


THE  QUARRIES  AT  JERUSALEM 

In  sonic  surprise,  Harold  took  the  pistol,  which 
he  saw  was  loaded.  He  had  several  times  re 
gretted  leaving  his  own  at  the  hotel. 

"Thanks,"  lie  said.     "Now  go— go!" 

Telecjian  bowed  for  the  last  time  and  moved 
away,  unrolling  the  hall  of  twine  as  he  went. 
Fainter  and  fainter  grew  the  light  of  his  receding 
candle,  until  it  vanished  in  the  far  distance  among 
the  shadows.  And  Sandy  sat  alone  by  his 
friend. 

He  sat  here  for  a  long  time,  thinking.  What 
was  going  to  happen  next?  Would  the  Syrian 
come  back  with  a  doctor?  Was  he  an  absolute 
scoundrel?  Had  he  himself  planned  this  attack 
or  been  a  party  to  it,  and  if  so,  what  was  his  mo 
tive?  If  he  wanted  them  killed,  why  had  he 
taken  care  of  Jack  and  gone  for  the  doctor? 
Why  had  he  left  the  candles  and  the  pistol,  and 
this  line  of  string  that  might  lead  them  safely 
out  of  the  catacombs? 

Sandy  studied  Telecjian's  pistol  as  if  seeking 
enlightenment  in  its  shining  barrel.  Was  it  pos 
sible  the  Moslems  had  done  this  whole  thing  be 
cause  of  their  hatred  for  Christians  and  their 
anger  over  the  desecration  of  their  great  mosque 
by  impious  picture-taking?  Was  it  possible  the 
Syrian  was  innocent?  Had  he  really  been  at- 

149 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

tacked,  as  he  claimed  ?  There  certainly  was  a  cut 
and  a  bruise  on  his  forehead. 

At  this  moment,  Jack  spoke,  and  his  voice 
sounded  stronger  than  before.  "Say,  Sandy!" 

"I  'm  here,  Jack.  What  can  I  do  to  help  you  ? 
I  wish  I  could  do  something." 

"You  have.     You  Ve  shown  that — you  care." 

"I  do,  Jack." 

"Thanks,  old  boy." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Sandy  took  it,  clum 
sily,  saying,  "I  hope  he  gets  that  doctor  here." 

"I  'm  not  going  to  need  any  doctor.  Honest, 
I  'm  not.  I  was  over  the  ropes  for  a  while,  but 
— I  'm  all  right.  And,  anyway,  there  won't  be 
any  doctor." 

"What?" 

"Our  friend  won't  come  back.  He  's  skipped. 
I  knoiv  he  won't  come  back." 

"You  can't  know  it,  Jack." 

"Yes,  I  can.  Arshag  Mesrop  Telecjian  won't 
come  back  because  he  's  got  what  he  wanted. 
You  called  me  easy  one  day.  Well,  we  're  both 
easy  now.  That  Syrian  has  done  us  up.  It 's 
tough  to  be  robbed  twice  in  ten  days,  but  that 's 
what 's  happened  to  us.  He 's  got  our  money, 
Sandy." 


ISO 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    TICKING    OF    A    WATCH 

HAROLD  stared  for  a  moment  as  if  he 
thought  Jack's  mind  was  wandering,  then, 
in  sudden  alarm,  he  pressed  a  hand  to  his  right 
side,  then  to  his  left  side,  then  he  tapped  care 
fully  around  his  waist,  as  if  searching  for  some 
thing. 

"By  Jove !  you  're  right,  Jack !"  he  cried  in 
hlank  dismay. 

After  their  misadventure  in  Cairo,  the  boys 
had  purchased  chamois-skin  money  belts,  and  had 
folded  their  bank-notes  in  these,  strapping  them 
securely  around  their  bodies.  And  now  the 
money  belts  were  gone. 

"When  did  you  miss  your  belt?"  asked  Sandy. 

"Oh,  after  he  started  away — a  few  minutes 
after — when  it  was  too  late,"  grumbled  Jack. 
"My  alleged  brain  could  n't  have  stood  the  pres 
sure  of  thinking  of  it  before  he  went  away." 

"How  about  my  alleged  brain?"  mourned  Har- 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

old.     "You  were  down  and  out,  but  I  might  have 
been  on  the  job." 

"You  were  thinking  about  that  doctor  and— 
me.     Don't  go  back  on  yourself,    Sandy.     We 
could  n't  have  done  anything,  anyway." 

"Why  not  ?  I  could  have  held  him  up  with  this 
pistol." 

Jack  shook  his  head. 

"You  would  n't  have  had  the  pistol  if  Brother 
Mesrop  had  n't  seen  that  you  did  n't  know  the 
money  was  gone.  He  only  gave  it  to  you  just  at 
the  last." 

Harold  frowned  in  perplexity. 

"I  don't  see  why  he  gave  it  to  me  at  all." 

"It  was  a  bluff." 

"How  a  bluff?" 

"The  whole  thing  was  a  bluff — giving  us  the 
pistol,  and  bathing  my  forehead,  and  unwinding 
the  ball  of  string.  Ten  to  one,  he  dropped  that 
string  before  he  got  half-way  out." 

"Why  should  he  make  a  bluff?" 

"He  wants  us  to  think  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  this  robbery." 

Harold  was  still  unconvinced. 

"I  'm  not  standing  up  for  Telecjian,  Jack,  but 
if  we  're  going  to  fight  him,  we  Ve  got  to  under 
stand  his  game,  and — your  idea  is  that  he  was  a 

152 


side  partner  of  those  Turks,  but  he  does  n't  want 
us  to  know  it?" 

"Side  partner?  He  hired  'em.  It  was  his 
job." 

"How  about  that  cut  on  his  forehead?" 

"Part  of  the  bluff.  He  probably  did  it  him 
self." 

"And  you  think  he  went  off  with  our  money  ?" 

"Why,  there  is  n't  any  doubt  of  it.  His  game 
is  to  do  us  all  the  harm  he  can.  If  he  gets  our 
money,  he  leaves  us  'broke' — bankrupt.  We 
can't  do  a  thing,  can  we?" 

Sandy  was  silent  a  moment,  thinking. 

"You  're  wrong,  Jack.  The  Syrian's  game  is 
to  watch  us — that 's  what  Mother  wrote.  Even 
if  he  has  our  money,  how  does  he  know  we  can't 
get  more  ?  How  does  he  know  we  would  n't  use 
that  eight  hundred  dollars  we  left  in  Cairo,  if 
we  had  to,  and  repay  it  later?" 

Jack  could  not  restrain  a  little  smile  at  this 
concession,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  Harold  went 
on  quickly: 

"What  I  'm  trying  to  say  is  that  Telecjian 
won't  dare  to  leave  us,  because  he  wants  to  keep 
solid  with  us ;  he  wants  to  stay  in  our  service. 
That 's  the  easiest  way  for  him  to  watch  us, 
is  n't  it  ?  Why,  your  own  argument  proves  it ; 

153 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

he  made  this  bluff  about  going  for  the  doctor  so 
he  can  come  back  with  the  doctor." 

''After  he  's  gotten  rid  of  my  money  some 
where  outside?"  put  in  McGreggor. 

"Well,  I  suppose  so." 

"He  '11  have  an  awful  nerve  to  come  back  when 
he  knows  we  '11  find  out  that  our  money  is  gone." 

"He'll  be  terribly  sorry;  he'll  say  the  Turks 
took  it.  And  we  can't  prove  they  did  n't,  un 
less — "  Evans  wrinkled  up  his  brows  in  perplex 
ity.  "Wait !  Let 's  think  this  out  straight.  It 
is  n't  a  question  of  getting  the  best  of  an  argu 
ment — I  'm  ready  to  chase  after  that  Syrian  this 
minute,  if  you  say  so,  but — do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  seriously,  John  McGreggor,  that  Telecjian 
gave  me  a  loaded  pistol  at  the  very  moment  when 
he  had  our  money  on  him  ?  Do  you  ?" 

"Why  not,  if  he  saw  you  did  n't  suspect  him  ?" 

"He  could  n't  be  sure  I  did  n't  suspect  him. 
There  was  always  a  chance  that  I  might  have 
held  him  up  with  that  gun,  and,  if  he  'd  had  the 
money  on  him,  he  would  n't  have  taken  that 
chance." 

McGreggor  \vas  impressed  by  this  reasoning. 

"If  he  did  n't  have  the  money  on  him,  then— 
where  is  the  money?" 

Again   Sandy  sat  silent,  with  a  half-dreamy 

154 


THE  TICKING  OF  A  WATCH 

look  in  his  eyes ;  then,  suddenly,  his  face  bright 
ened. 

"What  if  Telecjian  took  the  money  and — hid 
it,  while  we  were  unconscious  ?"  reasoned  Evans. 
"Then — then  he  would  n't  have  been  afraid  to 
hand  me  the  pistol.  See?" 

Jack  grasped  at  this  new  thought.  "You  mean 
— the  money  is  somewhere  about  here — now?" 

Sandy  nodded  mysteriously.  "Unless  I  'm  way 
off  in  my  calculations." 

"And — we  're  going  to  find  it?" 

"We  're  going  to  try  mighty  hard — if  you  're 
able  to  navigate." 

"Navigate?  Well,  if  you'll  show  me  how  to 
find  that  money,  I  '11  'navigate'  all  right.  Just 
watch  me." 

With  an  effort  Jack  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Good  boy!"  exclaimed  Harold. 

"That  shows  what  a  little  encouragement  will 
do.  Now,  where  's  the  money?" 

"I  don't  say  absolutely  that  we  can  find  it,  but 
—here  's  the  way  I  figure  it  out,"  replied  Sandy. 
"If  Telecjian  hid  the  money,  he  did  n't  hide  it 
far  from  here,  because  he  did  n't  have  time. 
Let 's  see."  Harold  looked  at  his  watch.  "It 's 
only  an  hour  and  a  quarter  since  we  left  the 
hotel.  It  doesn  't  seem  possible." 

155 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Hello !  You  've  still  got  your  watch," 
noticed  Jack. 

"Of  course.     Have  n't  you?" 

Jack  shook  his  head.  "It 's  gone — with  the 
money  belt.  Solid  gold,  too." 

"Never  mind.  We  '11  get  it  back,"  declared 
Harold.  "I  suppose  he  scorned  my  old  Water- 
bury.  The  point  is,  we  were  n't  unconscious 
more  than  five  or  ten  minutes.  We  can't  have 
been  when  you  think  of  all  that 's  happened  since 
we  left  the  hotel,  and  only  an  hour  and  a  quarter 
for  it  to  happen  in." 

"All  right,  suppose  we  were  unconscious  only 
five  or  ten  minutes,  what  of  it?" 

"Don't  you  see?  That  gave  the  Syrian  only 
ten  minutes  at  the  most  to  go  through  our  clothes 
and  hide  the  money.  So  he  can't  have  gone  far. 
I  believe  we  '11  find  everything  within  a  hundred 
feet  of  this  spot." 

Jack's  eyes  brightened  admiringly. 

"Sandy,  you  talk  like  a  detective  story!" 

"Does  it  sound  crazy?     Does  it,  Jack?" 

"Crazy?  It  sounds  fine!  One  hundred  feet 
from  here!  My  money  belt  with  nine  hundred 
good  dollars  in  it  is  only  a  hundred  feet  from 
here!  'Whistle  and  it  will  come  to  us,  my 

156 


THE  TICKING  OF  A  WATCH 

lad !'  "  and  whistling  cheerily,  he  peered  around 
among  the  shadows.  "A  hundred  feet  away,  you 
say  ?  That 's  a  circle  two  hundred  feet  across. 
Can't  you  make  it  smaller,  Sandy?" 

But  Harold  was  already  at  work  on  a  pile  of 
heavy  stones,  throwing  them  back  one  by  one, 
and  searching  underneath. 

"Get  busy,  Jack,  if  you  can.  Light  this  extra 
candle,  and  look  under  loose  stones.  We  'd  bet 
ter  work  around  in  regular  order,  so  as  not  to  do 
the  same  pile  twice." 

"Say,  Sandy !  Do  you  think  it 's  safe  to  burn 
both  candles  at  once  ?  What  '11  we  do  when 
they  're  gone  ?" 

Harold  looked  meditatively  at  the  two  candles. 

"Light  her  up,  Jack.  They  're  fairly  long  and 
fairly  thick.  They  '11  burn  two  hours,  easy. 
We  can  risk  half  an  hour  looking  for  this  money. 
If  we  have  n't  found  it  in  half  an  hour,  we  '11  blow 
out  one  candle.  Now  hustle !" 

Jack  lighted  his  candle,  and  the  boys  went  to 
work. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  they  faced 
each  other,  weary  and  discouraged.  They  had 
searched  faithfully,  and  found  nothing.  In  vain 
they  had  turned  over  every  loose  stone  within  the 

157 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

radius  agreed  upon.  After  all,  there  were  not  so 
very  many  stones,  for  much  of  the  cavern  floor 
was  comparatively  smooth. 

"Nothing  doing,  old  boy,"  sighed  McGreggor 
and  Harold  saw  that  his  face  was  pale. 

"You  're  tired,  Jack.     Sit  down  and  rest." 

"Got  plenty  of  matches,  Sandy?" 

"Yep." 

Jack  blew  out  his  candle  and  sat  down.  He 
leaned  against  a  stone  column  and  closed  his  eyes. 
Ouf!  Those  chaps  certainly  had  given  him  a 
crack  on  the  back  of  his  head ! 

Meantime,  Sandy  continued  his  search,  moving 
away  from  Jack  in  increasing  circles.  Where 
could  Telecjian  have  hidden  those  money  belts? 
And  Jack's  gold  watch  ?  Not  on  the  cavern  floor, 
for  they  had  looked  everywhere.  Not  among 
these  queer  roots  of  trees  that  crept  like  long 
snakes  between  fissures  in  the  rock.  He  had 
felt  behind  every  one  of  them.  Nor  in  these 
niches  in  the  stone  columns.  What  a  lot  of 
columns  there  were!  It  was  like  walking 
through  a  frozen,  black  forest.  He  wondered 
what  the  niches  were  for.  Perhaps  for  little 
lamps  that  the  quarrymen  must  have  used.  He 
would  ask  about  this. 

At  this  moment,  Jack  called  to  him,  and  his 

158 


THE  TICKING  OF  A  WATCH 

voice  resounded  strangely  through  the  vast 
cavern. 

"Oh,  Sandy!" 

"Right-o!" 

"Come  here,  will  you?" 

Harold  went  quickly  to  his  friend,  who  was 
still  sitting  propped  up  against  the  stone  column. 

"Anything  wrong?"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"I — I  don't  exactly  know.  I  wish  you  'd  sit 
down  here  by  me.  Put  your  back  up  against  this 
stone  column — just  the  way  I  am." 

It  was  an  odd  whim,  but  Harold  yielded  to  it, 
and,  seating  himself  on  the  cavern  floor,  he  backed 
up  obediently  to  the  column. 

"Now  what?"  he  asked. 

"Press  your  ear  against  the  stone — like  this. 
I  may  be  crazy,  Sandy.  P'r'aps  that  crack  on 
the  head  broke  something  inside,  but — do  you 
hear  anything,  old  man?"  he  asked. 

Sandy  listened  intently  for  a  few  moments. 

"I  hear  you  breathing,  and  I  hear  my  Water- 
bury  ticking." 

"Hang  the  Waterbury !  Give  it  to  me.  I  '11 
go  over  there.  I  '11  take  the  candle  so  you  can't 
hear  it  sputter.  Now  try  it." 

Jack  took  the  Waterbury  from  Evans  and 
walked  away  about  twenty  feet;  then  he  waited 

159 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

breathlessly  while  Sandy  pressed  his  ear  against 
the  column. 

"Go  farther  away,"  called  Sandy.  "I  can  hear 
the  Waterbury." 

Jack  moved  ten  feet  farther  away,  and  waited 
as  before. 

"Now  try  it." 

"That 's  funny,"  muttered  Sandy.  "I  can 
hear  the  Waterbury  still.  Go  farther  away." 

"I  'm  thirty  feet  from  you  now,"  said  Jack. 
"You  can't  hear  a  watch  tick  thirty  feet  away. 
Besides,  I  Ve  pressed  the  winder  so  it 's  stopped. 
You  don't  hear  it  now?" 

"Yes,  I  do!"  insisted  Harold.  "I  hear  it  dis 
tinctly!" 

"But  I  tell  you  it 's  stopped.  It  is  n't  ticking. 
You  can't  hear  a  watch  tick  when  it  is  n't  ticking. 
There!  You  can  see  for  yourself." 

He  went  back  quickly  to  his  friend,  and  showed 
him  the  Waterbury,  which  had  undoubtedly 
stopped. 

Harold  looked  at  the  watch  in  surprise. 

"That's  so!  It  has  stopped!"  he  admitted. 
Then  with  a  cry  of  sudden  understanding,  "I've 
got  it!  Don't  speak!  Don't  move!" 

Once  more  Harold  pressed  his  ear  against  the 
stone  column  while  Jack  waited. 

1 60 


THE  TICKING  OF  A  WATCH 

Then  Evans  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"It's  true!"  he  shouted.  "You're  not  crazy! 
There  is  a  watch  ticking  here — not  my  Water- 
bury,  but  your  own  gold  watch  that  Telecjian 
stole." 

"Where?     Where  is  it?" 

"Somewhere  near  this  column.  Don't  you  see, 
the  ticking  sound  carries  better  through  rock 
than  through  air?  We  studied  that  in  phy 
sics." 

"Yes,  but  where  is  the  watch?" 

Again  Harold  pressed  his  ear  against  the  stone 
column. 

"It 's  plainer  than  it  was.     That 's  because— 
that  must  be  because  I  'm  standing  up,"  he  said. 

"How  so?" 

Sandy  thought  a  moment. 

"I  must  be  nearer  to  the  ticking  standing  up 
than  when  I  was  sitting  down.  The  watch  must 
be  somewhere  above  the  floor.  See?" 

He  held  the  candle  over  his  head  and  scruti 
nized  the  surface  of  the  stone  column. 

"It  sounds  as  if  it  was  inside  the  stone."  he 
went  on.  "Hello!  what's  this?  By  Jove!  it  is 
inside !  Look,  Jack !" 

Sandy  pointed  to  a  hole  in  the  face  of  the  rock 
about  six  feet  above  the  floor.  This  hole  was 

161 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

two  or  three  inches  in  diameter,  and  was  stuffed 
with  earth. 

"See  here !     It  goes  right  through  the  column ; 
it  must  be  a  yard  long."     He  sprang  round  to  the 
other    side.     "Here 's    where    it    comes    out- 
blocked  up  with  dirt  the  same  way.     We  '11  dig 
the  dirt  out,  and — hold  this  candle !     There !" 

Working  rapidly  with  his  pocket-knife,  Harold 
presently  cleared  the  opening,  and,  reaching  in 
two  fingers,  he  drew  forth  something  that  shone 
yellow  in  the  candle-light. 

"Your  watch-chain,  old  boy!"  he  cried.  "And 
the  watch !  And  here  comes  one  of  the  money 
belts,  and — here  's  the  other !" 

"Great  Caesar!"  exclaimed  McGreggor, 
stunned  by  this  sudden  good  fortune. 

"Now  you  see  the  value  of  a  college  educa 
tion  !"  said  Harold,  triumphantly.  "If  I  had  n't 
studied  physics — " 

"Physics — nothing!"  exclaimed  Jack.  "Who 
was  it  heard  that  watch  ticking,  anyway?" 

"You  heard  it,  my  son,  but — you  thought  you 
wrere  crazy,  whereas  I,  being  a  scientist— Never 
mind,  Jack!  We 've  got  everything  back!" 

"Right-O!  We  have!  I  wonder  what  that 
hole  in  the  column  was  ever  made  for?*' 

"We  '11  ask  Telecjian." 
162 


THE  TICKING  OF  A  WATCH 

McGreggor  shook  his  head. 

"We  '11  never  see  Telecjian  again." 

"Bet  you  we  see  him  within  an  hour.  He  hid 
the  money,  did  n't  he  ?  He  '11  come  back  for  it, 
won't  he  ?  By  the  way,  let 's  open  these  belts, 
and  see  if  everything's  O.K." 

"Maybe  he 's  left  us  a  diamond  necklace," 
grinned  Jack. 

A  brief  examination  showed  that  their  valu 
ables  had  not  been  tampered  with,  the  bank-notes 
were  just  as  the  boys  had  left  them,  nine  hundred 
dollars  in  one  belt,  and  three  hundred  in  the  other. 

"That  being  the  case,  and  it 's  great  luck,"  re 
marked  McGreggor,  "I  am  strong  for  getting  out 
of  this  old  cistern." 

"Cistern !     There  are  miles  of  it." 

"Then  we  want  to  move  quick,  Mr.  Scientist, 
before  these  candles  burn  out." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Sandy.  "We'll  follow 
this  string." 

The  boys  set  out  forthwith  along  the  trail 
left  by  the  Syrian,  Harold  leading  the  way  with 
a  lighted  candle. 

The  string  ran  on  through  the  forest  of  stone 
columns,  in  and  out  of  huge  rock  chambers  where 
swift  bats  twittered  up  and  down  vast,  shelving 
ways,  until  it  ended  in  a  clear,  crystal  spring  that 

163 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

gushed  out  of  the  rock.  Here  the  string  stopped 
abruptly;  it  had  been  tied  fast  to  a  stone  and  left 
there. 

"Ah !  Look  at  that !"  sniffed  McGreggor.  "I 
told  you  he  'd  never  come  back.  This  is  how  he 
leads  us  out  of  the  labyrinth." 

Sandy  studied  the  situation. 

"Maybe  you  're  wrong,  Jack.  Maybe  he 's 
brought  us  here  so  we  '11  have  water  to  drink, 
and — he  probably  knows  just  where  this  spring 
is,  so  he  can  come  back  to  it." 

The  boys  found  the  spring-water  very  refresh 
ing,  and  rested  here  for  a  few  minutes,  seating 
themselves  on  a  broken  column. 

"It 's  a  funny  old  place,"  said  Jack,  wiping  his 
mouth.  "Hello !  What 's  that  ?" 

From  somewhere  in  the  distance  came  the 
sound  of  footsteps,  approaching  footsteps  that 
echoed  through  the  cavern.  And  presently,  from 
the  mouth  of  an  arched  passage  about  a  hundred 
yards  up  the  shelving  rock,  appeared  a  torch 
borne  by  a  man  wearing  a  red  fez. 

Quick  as  a  flash  Harold  blew  out  his  candle. 

"Don't  speak!  Don't  move!"  he  whispered. 
"It 's  a  Turk." 

The  boys  peered  anxiously  through  the  shad 
ows,  and  presently  made  out  a  second  man  in 

164 


The  boys  peered  anxiously  through  the  shadows. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

European  dress,  and,  as  the  light  of  the  torch 
fell  upon  him,  Jack  started  in  surprise. 

"Why — why  it 's  Arshag !"  he  exclaimed. 
"You  win,  Sandy.  He  did  come  back." 

But  young  Evans  was  looking  ahead  with  a 
puzzled  expression. 

"No,  I  don't  win.  I  meant  that  Telecjian 
would  come  back  of  his  own  accord,  and — he 
hasn't,  Jack.  He's  been  brought  back!" 

"Brought  back?" 

"See  that  Turk  grab  him  by  the  arm  and  march 
him  along?  Telecjian  has  come  back  because  he 
had  to  come  back,  and — don't  you  see  who  the 
Turk  is  ?  It  shows  that  I  must  have  been  rattled 
not  to  recognize  him  at  first.  It 's  Deeny — 
Deeny  on  the  job!" 


1 66 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

WITH  shouts  of  joy,  the  boys  revealed  their 
presence,  and,  a  moment  later,  Telecjian 
rejoined  them,  voluble  in  protest  against  the 
brutal  treatment  he  had  received  from  Nasr-ed- 
Din. 

The  Turk  stood  by,  grimly  indifferent.  His 
orders  had  been  to  watch  the  Syrian,  and  he  had 
watched  him.  He  had  seen  Telecjian  sneaking 
out  alone  from  the  quarries  through  the  hole  near 
the  Damascus  gate  (after  having  seen  him  leave 
the  hotel  with  the  two  boys),  and  had  held  him  up 
forthwith,  none  too  gently,  and  then  marched 
him  back  through  the  black  cavern,  resolved  to 
find  out  what  had  become  of  his  master. 

"Choke  cyi"  ("Very  good"),  approved  Harold. 

"I  don't  see  how  Deeny  happened  to  be  right 
there  by  the  gate  when  Ashcar  popped  out,"  pon 
dered  Jack. 

"How  does  a  short-stop  happen  to  be  where  the 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

ball  is  coming?     Because  he  knows  his  business. 
Eh,  Deeny?" 

The  Turk's  eyes  brightened  at  Sandy's  smile; 
but  Telecjian's  face  was  black. 


Entrance  to  quarries  near  Damascus  gate. 

"It 's  an  outrage !"  he  muttered.  "I  was  hur 
rying  for  the  doctor." 

"Yes,  you  were — not!"  sniffed  McGreggor. 

Harold  glanced  sharply  at  the  Syrian  and 
started  to  speak,  but  checked  himself  as  if  with 
a  new  idea. 

"Deeny!  Look  here!"  he  said,  and,  taking 
Nasr-ed-Din  to  one  side,  he  spoke  to  him  ear 
nestly  in  Turkish.  The  servant  listened  with 

1 68 


'THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

nods  of  understanding-,  and,  presently,  his  homely 
face  lit  up  exultantly. 

"Haidec,glrit!"  ("Now  hurry!")  finished  Har 
old,  with  a  quick  gesture,  whereupon  the  Turk 


The  Damascus  gate. 

made    his    usual    salaam,    lifted   his    torch,    and 
moved  rapidly  away. 

"Where  have  you  sent  him?"  asked  Jack. 

"I  '11  tell  you  in  a  minute,"  answered  Harold. 
"He  's  going  to  bring  some  stuff  to  eat — for  one 
thing." 

Telecjian  looked  inquiringly  at  the  boy. 

"You  wish  to  eat — here?" 

"Why  not?" 

169 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"But — it 's  not  far  to  the  Damascus  gate.  We 
can  be  back  at  the  hotel  in  half  an  hour." 

Evans  studied  the  coin  collector  without  speak 
ing,  and  his  young  face  seemed  to  grow  set  in  a 
new  and  serious  purpose. 

"Sit  down,  Telecjian,  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
Sit  down,  Jack." 

He  pointed  to  a  broken  column. 

"There  's  a  big  question  to  be  settled  here," 
Harold  resumed  when  they  were  seated,  "and — 
we  're  going  to  settle  it  right  now.  Telecjian, 
I  'm  only  a  young  fellow,  and  you  're  a  man,  but 
— in  the  first  place,  don't  forget  that  you  loaned 
me  your  pistol,  and — I  've  got  it — here  in  my 
coat-pocket." 

Telecjian  pulled  nervously  at  his  black  beard. 

"I — I  don't  understand.  You  young  gentle 
men  suspect  me  unjustly,"  whined  the  Syrian. 
"I  have  been  your  friend.  I  have  done  my  best 
to—" 

"Stop !"  interrupted  Harold  sternly.  "Answer 
my  questions.  When  you  spoke  to  us  that  day 
on  the  boat,  and  said  you  wanted  to  work  for  us, 
what  was  your  idea?" 

"I  needed  the  work." 

"No  other  reason?" 

"No,  sir." 

170 


"THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

"Were  n't  you  employed  by  some  one  to  follow 
us?  Now  then?" 

The  Syrian  flinched  but  controlled  himself. 

"No,  sir,"  he  answered  quietly  and  there  was  a 
look  of  reproachful  sadness  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"Did  n't  you  organize  this  attack  on  us  to-day 
so  as  to — to  get  our  money?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Huh !"  snorted  Jack.  "Then  where  is  our 
money?  Our  money  belts?  And  my  gold 
watch?" 

The  coin  collector  opened  his  eyes  in  innocent 
amazement.     "You  don't  mean  to  say  they  are 
—gone  ?" 

"Come  here,  Telecjian,"  ordered  Harold  and, 
pointing  accusingly  to  the  hole  in  the  stone  col 
umn  he  explained  about  finding  the  money  belts 
there,  but  the  wily  Syrian  insisted  that  this  only 
proved  his  innocence,  for,  if  he  had  stolen  the 
money,  would  he  not  have  taken  it  away  with 
him? 

Equally  plausible  was  his  explanation  when 
the  boys  pointed  to  the  labyrinth  string  that 
ended  at  a  rock.  Telecjian  declared  that  he 
had  left  this  string  purposely,  there  by  the  spring, 
where  he  could  easily  find  it  and  had  thus  saved 
precious  time  in  his  pursuit  of  a  doctor. 

171 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Say,"  mused  Jack,  "I  wish  I  knew  the  Turk 
ish  word  for  liar." 

"Yalanji,"  supplied  Sandy. 

"Yalanji!  Fine!  Now,  brother  Ashrag,  I 
have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that,  as  a  yalanji, 
you  're  a  corker.  I  Ve  met  yalanjis  from  all 
parts  of  the  world,  but  I  never  struck  one  with 
such  a  magnificent,  three-ring,  diamond  belt, 
open  championship  yalanjiness  as  you  've 
got." 

Telecjian's  scowl  deepened  and  Harold  stared 
off  absently  among  the  shadows. 

"What  time  is  it,  Jack?"  he  asked. 

McGreggor  held  his  watch  towards  the  can 
dle  flame. 

"A  quarter  to  one.  .  Did  you  say  something 
about  eating?" 

"Deeny  ought  to  be  back,"  muttered  Evans 
and  they  all  fell  into  expectant  silence. 

Five  minutes  passed  and  it  seemed  a  long  time, 
then  five  minutes  more  and  presently,  from  far 
up  the  slope  of  rock  they  made  out  Nasr-ed-Din's 
faithful  torch  flaring  towards  them  and,  a  mo 
ment  later  the  huge  Turk  was  standing  by  the 
spring,  his  face  radiant  and  his  broad  back  bent 
under  two  heavy  sacks.  In  one  hand  he  held  a 
carefully  tied  basket. 

172 


"THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

"There  's  the  stuff  to  eat,  in  that  basket,"  said 
Harold,  "but — wait,  not  yet." 

Long  afterwards  Jack  remembered  how  young 
Evans  looked,  there  in  the  wavering  torch  light, 
as  he  stood  with  hands  clenched  and  head  thrown 
forward  like  a  football  captain  ready  for  a  des 
perate  play.  The  Syrian,  too,  remembered  this 
picture  of  boyish  resolve — he  had  reason  to  re 
member  it. 

"Telecjian,  we  've  talked  enough,"  began  Har 
old  in  a  low  tone.  "You  Ve  had  your  chance  to 
tell  the  truth  and  you  have  n't  taken  it.  Now 
I  'in  going  to  make  you  tell  it.  I  know  more  than 
you  think,  and  I  'm  going  to  know  the  rest.  I  'm 
going  to  know — "  the  boy's  voice  broke  under  the 
strength  of  his  emotion  and,  bending,  w7hite- 
faced,  close  to  the  Syrian,  he  held  out  a  menacing 
fore  finger,  "I  'm  going  to  know  why  you  tricked 
my  mother  that  day — lied  to  her  there  at  the 
pyramid." 

Telecjian  stared  blankly. 

"Your  mother  ?     I  never  saw  your  mother." 

"Oh !"  cried  Harold  angrily.  Then  he  mo 
tioned  to  Nasr-ed-Din. 

The  big  Turk  sprang  forward  eagerly  and, 
seizing  the  two  sacks  that  he  had  brought,  he 
dragged  them  towards  a  low,  narrow  archway 

173 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

that  opened  near  the  spring.  Behind  one  sack 
a  white  powdered  trail  spread  over  the  rock,  be 
hind  the  other,  a  brownish  trail. 

Telecjian  bent  towards  the  cavern  floor  and 
examined  this  dust. 

"Lime  and  sand !"  he  mused. 

"Yes,  and  you  know  what  they  make — mixed 
with  water,"  flashed  Harold. 

"Mortar !"  answered  the  Syrian. 

"And  you  know  what  that  makes — spread  over 
stones?  It  makes  a  wall,  Mr.  Telecjian.  You 
see  that  archway?  It's  going  to  be  walled  up, 
and — you  're  going  to  stay  behind  it!" 

"Great  Scott!"  exclaimed  Jack. 

The  Syrian's  lip  curled  scornfully. 

"If  you  think  you  can  frighten  me  with  a  fool 
ish  threat—" 

"Threat?  It's  a  fact.  It's  the  surest  fact 
you  know.  You  Ve  been  fighting  me,  and — I  'm 
going  to  fight  back.  My  father  and  my  mother 
have  been  made  prisoners  by  the  scoundrel  you 
\vork  for.  Now  it 's  my  turn,  and — oh,  you 
think  it 's  funny !  It  makes  you  laugh !  Ha, 
ha !  It  makes  me  laugh,  too.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Did 
you  ever  read  a  story  by  Edgar  Allan  Poe  called 
The  Cask  of  the  Amontillado?'  No?  You'll 
enjoy  it — some  day." 

174 


"Sandy!"  gasped  McGreggor.  "You  don't 
really  mean  to — to  wall  him  up?" 

Young  Evans  nodded  grimly.  "It 's  the  only 
way.  I  Ve  thought  it  all  out.  You  know  what 
he  's  done  to  us  this  morning.  Well,  if  we  let 
him  out,  it  will  be  worse.  Our  lives  won't  be 
worth  five  cents.  He  '11  send  a  warning  to  the 
man  above  him,  and — where  will  my  mother  be? 
And  my  father?" 

"That 's  so,"  reflected  Jack.  "Say,  I  '11  take 
a  look  at  his  new  quarters." 

McGreggor  caught  up  the  torch,  and,  passing 
under  the  archway,  found  himself  in  a  low, 
vaulted  chamber  about  twelve  feet  square.  There 
was  no  way  out  of  this  chamber  except  through 
the  archway. 

"Go  in  there!"  ordered  Harold,  turning  to 
Telecjian.  "Deeny!" 

The  Syrian  hesitated,  but,  as  Nasr-ed-Din 
strode  toward  him,  he  yielded,  scowling,  and 
passed  inside. 

"Now  we  must  fetch  stones  and  pile  'em  up. 
Hustle,  Jack." 

For  half  an  hour,  the  boys  worked  zealously, 
carrying  loose  stones,  which  Deeny,  with  skilful 
trowel,  mortared  into  a  solid  wall  that  grew  foot 
by  foot  before  their  eyes,  until  it  had  risen  to  the 

175 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

shoulders  of  Telecjian,  who  stood  behind  it  in 
sullen  silence.  Then,  for  extra  safety,  the  Turk 
rolled  up  two  great  bowlders  and  braced  them 
against  the  base  of  the  wall  outside. 

"It 's  queer  that  he  does  n't  say  anything/' 
whispered  McGreggor,  and  the  Syrian,  catching 
the  words,  bared  his  teeth. 

"You  '11  hear  from  me  later  on,"  he  snarled. 
"Don't  think  I  am  disturbed  by  this — this  cheap 
trickery." 

Harold  went  close  to  the  barrier,  and,  leaning 
across  the  unfinished  wall,  looked  his  adversary 
straight  in  the  eye. 

"Telecjian,  I  'm  sorry  to  treat  you  this  way, 
but  you  Ve  made  my  mother  suffer,  and — /  'in 
going  to  know  all  that  you  know  about  my 
mother." 

"What  should  I  know  about  your  mother?" 

The  boy  waved  aside  this  reply. 

"Listen !  This  w^all  will  be  built  up  solid  ex 
cept  for  two  small  openings,  just  big  enough  to 
let  in  air  and  food  and  water.  Nasr-ed-Din  will 
watch  here  until  the  mortar  is  set.  He  will  leave 
you  food  and  water,  and  some  straw  to  sleep  on, 
and  I  '11  come  back  to-morrow — after  we  've  seen 
the  Greek  monk." 


"THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

At  this,  Telecjian  started  violently,  and  his  sal 
low  face  became  white,  like  clay. 

"The — the  Greek  monk?"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  the  Greek  monk,  Basil.  Why,  what 's 
the  matter,  man?" 

Even  as  Harold  spoke,  a  most  extraordinary 
change  had  taken  place  in  the  coin  collector.  All 
his  defiance  and  insolent  bravado  had  suddenly 
left  him,  and  now  it  was  a  despairing",  terror- 
haunted  creature  that  stared  at  young  Evans 
from  across  the  wall. 

"You — you  are  not  going  to  tell  Basil  that  I— 
that  I  am  here?"  he  gasped. 

"Why  not?" 

"No,  no,  no!"  the  Syrian  screamed  in  a  frenzy 
of  fear.  "You  must  not  do  that !  You  must 
not,  sir.  You  don't  know  what  it  would  mean." 

"What  would  it  mean?"  demanded  Harold. 

"I  '11  tell  you  everything,  sir,  if — if  you  '11  pro 
tect  me  from  Basil." 

Jack  gave  a  long,  low  whistle  of  surprise,  and 
turned  to  his  friend. 

"We  Ve  got  him  going,  Sandy,"  he  whispered. 

"Tell  me  about  my  mother,"  ordered  Evans. 

Telecjian  hesitated,  then,  speaking  low,  he  be 
gan  his  confession. 

177 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"It 's  true  I — was  paid  to — get  your  mother 
inside  the  pyramid." 

"Ah !  You  hear  that,  Jack !  Then  you  know 
where  my  mother  is?  You  know  why  she  \vas 
made  a  prisoner?  Do  you?" 

"No,  sir,  I  don't  know  that.  I  swear  to  you 
I  don't  know  that,  but — "  he  hesitated  again. 

"But  what?" 

"It 's  true  I  was — paid  to  follow  you." 

"And  you  planned  this  attack  on  us  to-day? 
Did  youf" 

Here  Telecjian  launched  into  a  voluble  expla 
nation,  but  Sandy  stopped  him.  He  wanted 
facts.  Had  Telecjian  planned  this  attack? 
Yes  or  no?  Then  haltingly,  shamefacedly, 
Telecjian  admitted  that,  acting  under  orders 
which  he  dared  not  disobey,  he — well,  yes,  he  had. 

"Ah!     And  who  gave  the  orders?" 

"They  came  by  cable,  sir." 

"By  cable!"  murmured  McGreggor.  "I  was 
cracked  on  the  head  by  cable !" 

"Who  sent  this  cable?"  pursued  Harold. 

The  Syrian  was  trembling  with  fright. 

"A — a  man  in  Cairo, — high  in  authority, 
but—" 

"What  is  his  name?" 

Here  Telecjian  quite  lost  control  of  himself, 


"THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

and  begged  frantically,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to 
be  spared  the  necessity  of  naming  his  employer. 
It  would  do  the  boys  no  good,  he  declared,  and 
would  utterly  destroy  him.  If  they  would  only 
trust  him — this  once — he  would  prove  his  grati 
tude,  he  would  render  them  precious  service,  he 
would  show  Harold  how  to  find  his  mother,  but 

-"no,  no,  no !"  he  could  not  betray  his  employer. 

In  vain  the  boys  reasoned  and  threatened. 
The  Syrian  faced  them  stubbornly  across  the 
wall,  and  shook  his  head.  He  would  not  give 
the  official's  name. 

"How  are  you  going  to  help  me  find  my 
mother,"  stormed  Evans,  "if  you  won't  tell  me 
who  is  keeping  her  a  prisoner?" 

Telecjian  began  another  long  reply,  but  Har 
old  cut  him  short. 

"Stop!  You  promised  to  tell  me  everything, 
and  now  you  're  holding  back  the  best  informa 
tion  you  Ve  got.  Don't  talk  any  more.  It 's  no 
use.  I  'm  going  to  leave  you  here  until  to-mor 
row.  Maybe  you  '11  have  more  sense  then. 
Come  on,  Jack.  Deeny  will  finish  this  wall. 
Come  on." 

An  hour  later  the  boys  were  safely  back  in 
their  rooms  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  Arshag 
Mesrop  Telecjian  was  not  with  them. 

179 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"There  was  nothing  else  to  do/'  frowned  Har 
old.  "We  had  to  leave  him  there;  we  liad  to  do 
it!" 

Seeing  his  friend's  anxiety,  McGreggor  tried 
to  answer  lightly. 

"Don't  worry,  old  boy.  A  little  rest  won't 
hurt  Brother  Arshag.  He'll  have  a  nice,  straw 
bed  to  sleep  on,  and  enough  to  eat,  and — it 's  a 
lot  cooler  down  there  than  it  is  here  on  David 
Street." 

But  Evans's  face  remained  serious. 

"Jack,  that  fellow  is  bad  all  through,  tricky 
and  treacherous.  If  we  had  trusted  him  and  let 
him  out,  as  he  wanted  us  to,  he  'd  have  turned  on 
us  in  a  minute." 

"Sure  he  would." 

Harold  picked  up  a  pencil  and  began  idly  scrib 
bling  with  it,  and  for  some  moments  the  two  were 
silent. 

"Say,  Sandy?"  said  McGreggor,  presently. 

"Well!" 

"Do  you  know  what  puzzles  me?  It's  the 
way  Telecjian  went  to  pieces  when  you  sprung 
the  Greek  monk  on  him.  He  's  afraid  of  this 
Greek  monk,  but — the  Greek  monk  is  afraid  of 
him !  We  saw  that  when  they  met — did  n't  we  ?" 

"Ye-es." 

180 


"THE  CASK  OF  AMONTILLADO" 

Harold  was  playing  with  his  pencil.  His  eyes 
were  half  shut,  as  if  he  were  studying  some  dis 
tant  object. 

"It  's  a  tangle,  Jack.  I  don't  understand  it, 
but  the  thing  for  us  to  do  is  straight  and  plain. 
We  Ve  got  to  obey  orders — just  go  ahead  and 
do  what  my  father  said." 

"See  this  Greek  monk,  you  mean?  But  he  s 
a  scoundrel:  Deeny  says  so." 

"We  Ve  got  to  see  him  just  the  same.  That 's 
what  we  're  here  for." 

"He  's  the  wickedest  man  in  Jerusalem,  the 
American  consul  said  so." 

"I  know,  but — I  'm  backing  my  father  against 
Deeny  and  the  American  consul  ten  times  over. 
He  knoivs!  And  he  said  that  we  must  see  this 
monk.  That  's  the  last  thing  my  father  told  me 
to  do,  Jack  and—  '  Sandy's  voice  caught  as  he 
choked  back  his  feelings,  "and  that 's  what  my 
mother  wrote  in  her  letter  that  wre  must  do,  so- 
so  we  '11  do  it." 

"All  right,  old  boy,"  agreed  Jack;  "we  '11  do  it." 


181 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   HOLY   SEPULCHER 

AFTER  eating  a  hearty  luncheon  in  the  ho 
tel  dining-room  (the  basket  of  food  had 
been  left  at  the  quarries  for  Telecjian),  the  boys 
decided  that  it  would  be  well  for  them  to  rest  in 
their  rooms  for  a  couple  of  hours  before  braving 
the  Greek  monk. 

"Try  to  get  a  little  sleep,  old  fellow,"  said  Jack, 
sympathetically,  as  he  noticed  Harold's  pale  face. 
"It  will  make  a  lot  of  difference." 

"All  right.  Meet  you  at  four  o'clock — in  the 
courtyard,"  answered  Sandy. 

But  Sandy  Evans  did  not  feel  like  sleeping. 
He  was  troubled  in  his  mind,  full  of  fears  and 
somber  fancies.  How  would  this  struggle  end? 
What  chance  had  two  boys  in  a  strange,  far-off 
land  with  enemies  all  about  them  ?  Suppose  they 
were  attacked  again !  Suppose  they  fell  ill ! 
Suppose — suppose  his  father  had  made  some  ter 
rible  mistake  in  sending  them  to  this  wicked 

182 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHER 

monk,  Basil!  Suppose  he  was  never  to  see  his 
father  and  his  mother  again ! 

Erom  these  torturing-  thoughts  the  boy  tried 
vainly  to  rouse  himself.  What  was  the  matter 
with  him?  He  was  desperately  sad  and  lonely, 
and — and  yet  he  did  not  want  to  see  Jack.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  was  getting  too  much  of  Jack. 

"I  'm  in  one  of  my  cranky  fits,"  muttered 
Sandy.  "I  '11  get  up  and  do  something." 

He  looked  out  of  his  window  over  the  spread 
of  blue  and  white  domes  that  fill  the  Armenian 
quarter  of  Jerusalem,  and,  as  he  blinked  in  the 
sun's  burning  glare,  he  remembered  his  purpose 
to  buy  one  of  those  cool,  white  linen  pugrees 
that  the  tourists  wear  flapping  down  from  their 
cork  helmets,  to  protect  themselves  against  the 
heat.  There  was  a  shop  in  Christian  Street 
where  he  could  buy  one  of  these,  and — yes,  he 
would  buy  two,  one  for  Jack. 

This  pugree  transaction  occupied  Harold  only 
a  few  minutes,  and  left  him  an  hour  and  a  half 
before  four  o'clock.  What  should  he  do?  As 
he  glanced  down  Christian  Street  with  its  noisy 
swarm,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  square,  stumpy 
tower  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher. 
And,  straightway,  there  came  into  the  boy's 
mind  his  father's  message—  "You  must  %o  to 

183 


Jerusalem  and  find  the  Greek  monk,  Basil,  who 
has  a  carpenter  shop  in  the  tower  of  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulcher,  and  ask  him  to — " 

Ask  him  to — what?  What  could  he  ask  of 
the  wickedest  man  in  Jerusalem?  And  yet  he 
must  obey  his  father's  command.  The  time  had 
come  to  solve  this  mystery.  Here  was  the  tower 
of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher.  He  had 
waited  all  these  days  on  account  of  Telecjian,  but 
there  was  no  reason  to  wait  any  longer.  Telec 
jian  could  make  no  more  trouble.  Perhaps  the 
monk  was  in  the  tower  now.  He  might  ask  for 
him — there  was  no  harm  in  asking,  and— 

With  strange  feelings,  Harold  drew  near  the 
sacred  building.  A  flight  of  narrow  steps  led 
him  down  to  a  stone-paved  courtyard  swarming 
with  beggars,  and  peddlers,  and  Russian  pil 
grims — sad-eyed  women  with  shawls  over  their 
heads,  and  big-bearded  men,  counting  their 
beads  with  looks  of  devotion  as  they  moved  to 
ward  two  heavy  wooden  doors  where  a  white- 
turbaned  Moslem  in  long,  purple  garment  stood 
indifferently  on  guard. 

Harold  pressed  forward  with  the  throng,  and 
wras  surprised,  as  he  entered  the  edifice,  to  come 
upon  a  group  of  Turks  squatting  on  a  divan  at 
the  left,  lazily  smoking  their  chibouks,  without 

184 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHER 


Crowd  of  pilgrims  at  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher. 
Foot  washing  ceremony. 

paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  crowd  of 
entering  Christians,  except,  now  and  then,  to 
cast  looks  of  scorn  or  derision  at  them. 

185 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Presently,  Harold  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  man  of  cheery  countenance,  whose  smile 
was  so  kindly  that  the  boy  was  prompted  to  speak 
to  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  hesitated;  and 
then  he  blushed  in  embarrassment,  for,  observing 
the  man's  apparel,  he  discovered  that  he  had  ad 
dressed  a  member  of  some  priestly  order.  There 
was  the  long,  girdled  garment  of  coarse,  brown 
cloth,  and  the  heavy  sandals  with  bare  feet  in 
side. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  young  friend?" 
replied  the  other.  "I  am  Brother  Nicodemus, 
one  of  the  Franciscans." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  murmured  Harold.  "I  'ni 
an  American — er — I  wanted  to  ask — er — " 

He  stopped  awkwardly,  not  knowing  what  to 
say. 

"Is  this  your  first  visit  here?"  inquired  Brother 
Nicodemus. 

"Yes,  sir,  and — er — I  suppose  you  know  all 
about  the  Holy  Sepulcher !" 

The  Franciscan  smiled. 

"I  ought  to.     I  have  been  here  for  three  years." 

"You  mean  here  in  Jerusalem?" 

"I  mean  here  in  this  church.  I  live  here.  Ah, 
no  wonder  you  look  surprised !  This  is  a  strange 

1 86 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHER 


building,  with  all  sorts  of  wings,  and  garrets, 
and  queer  corners.  Up-stairs  there  are  living- 
rooms,  a  dozen  beds — more  than  a  dozen.  Be 
sides  that,  scores 
of  pilgrims  sleep 
on  the  stone 
floors  every  night. 
They  are  locked 
in."' 

"Why    is    that?' 
Why      are      they 
locked  in?" 

"Because  the 
Turks  will  have  it 
so.  You  know  the 
Turks  own  every 
thing  here.  See 
that  tall  fellow  in 
purple  near  the 
door?  He  is  the 
guardian.  He 

locks  those  big  doors  after  sunset,  and  then  no 
body  can  go  out  or  get  in  until  he  unlocks  them 
in  the  morning.  If  he  feels  like  it,  he  passes  in 
food  for  the  pilgrims,  that  is,  he  sells  it  to  those 
who  are  able  to  pay.  See  those  round  holes  in 
the  door  ?  That 's  what  they  are  for." 


Turkish  guardian  of  Holy  Sepulcher 
locking  doors. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!"  exclaimed 
Harold. 

"Doubtless  there  is  much  you  have  never  heard 
of  if  this  is  your  first  visit.  I  don't  suppose  you 
know  that  Adam  is  buried  here?" 

"Adam?"  stared  the  boy.  "You  mean — Adam 
and  Eve?" 

Nicodemus  nodded  good-humoredly. 

"I  don't  know  about  Eve,  but  we  are  taught  to 
believe  that   the  father  of  all  men  is  buried— 
over  there — to  the  right  of  those  arches.     If  you 
like,  I  '11  show  you  the  place." 

Young  Evans  thanked  the  Franciscan,  and 
was  presently  gazing  at  this  most  venerable 
tomb.  Then  Nicodemus  showed  him  other  ex 
traordinary  things,  a  stone  that  is  said  to  mark 
the  exact  center  of  the  universe,  a  pillar  that  per 
spires  and  is  supposed  to  cure  diseases,  and  many 
startlingly  intimate  scenes  of  the  Bible  story. 

Harold  looked  and  listened  in  amazement. 

"How  can  they  know  the  very  spot  where  all 
these  things  happened?"  he  marveled. 

"That 's  a  hard  question,"  smiled  the  Francis 
can.  "I  don't  think  I  '11  try  to  answer  it.  The 
fact  is,  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  now.  I 
have  my  duties  at  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane. 
I  take  care  of  the  flowers  there,  and  of  the  old 

1 88 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHER 

olive-trees.     Stop  and  see  me  some  day.     I  will 
show  you  Methuselah." 

"Thank  you,"   said   Harold,   puzzled  by   this 


Franciscan  in  Garden  of  Gethsemane. 

ancient  name.     "I  suppose  Methuselah  is — er— 

"Methuselah  is  my  pet  cat,"  laughed  Nicode- 
mus.  "He  's  a  fine,  big  Angora.  Well,  good- 
by." 

189 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Good-by,  sir.  You  Ye  been  very  kind." 
Then,  remembering  what  he  had  forgotten  for 
the  moment,  "By  the  way,  did  you — did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  Greek  monk  named  Basil?" 

The  Franciscan's  face  hardened,  and  he  eyed 
the  young  American  in  sudden  suspicion. 

"Basil?     Yes,  I  Ve  heard  of  him — very  often." 

"He  has  a  carpenter  shop  in  the  tower,  has  n't 
he?" 

"Yes,  but  he  never  works  there  now.  He  has 
a  relic  factory  in  Bethlehem  that  pays  him  bet 
ter."  Nicodemus  spoke  scornfully.  "Why  do 
you  ask  about  Basil?" 

"Because  I — I  want  to  see  him,"  said  Harold. 

"Oh !  You  '11  have  to  go  to  Bethlehem  for 
that.  Of  course  it 's  not  my  affair,  but  I  warn 
you  to  be  very  careful  if  you  have  any  dealings 
with  that  man." 

At  this  moment,  the  swell  of  an  organ  caught 
their  ears,  and  the  sound  of  distant  chanting. 

"It 's  the  Russian  pilgrims — there — up  those 
steps — on  Mount  Calvary." 

Harold  stared  at  his  guide.  "Is  that  Mount 
Calvary?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Nicodemus,  and,  with  another 
good-by,  he  hurried  away,  leaving  Harold  thor 
oughly  perplexed. 

190 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHER 

Now,  in  spite  of  the  throng,  the  boy  felt  again 
that  depressing  sense  of  loneliness  and  helpless 
ness.  If  there  was  only  some  one  to  advise  him, 
some  one  wise  and  kind  to  whom  he  might  tell  his 
troubles.  He  followed  along  absently  in  the 
crush  of  worshipers,  past  rows  of  huge,  painted 
candles  higher  than  a  man's  head  that  rise  in 
golden  candlesticks  at  the  entrance  to  the  Holy 
Sepulcher.  And,  in  his  turn,  he  passed  through 
a  low  door,  and  entered  the  white  marble  Chapel 
of  the  Angel,  where  endless  pilgrims  bend  rever 
ently  over  the  rock  that  they  believe  was  rolled 
away  from  the  tomb  and  press  fervent  kisses  on 
the  glass  that  covers  it. 

Presently  he  stooped  through  another  small 
door,  and  came  into  the  innermost  sanctuary, 
where  forty-three  lamps  of  silver  and  gold  burn 
ceaselessly,  and  where  every  stone  has  been  hal 
lowed  down  the  centuries  by  the  tears  and  prayers 
of  countless  worshipers. 

Harold's  face  was  white  as  he  came  out  again 
into  the  body  of  the  church.  His  heart  was 
swelling  with  emotion.  He  felt  that  he  should 
do  something  in  keeping  with  the  solemnity  of 
the  place  and  the  seriousness  of  his  own  situa 
tion.  But  he  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

The  Russians  were  still  chanting — there  at  the 
191 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

left.  It  seemed  queer  to  call  that  little  place 
Mount  Calvary.  Harold  had  always  thought  of 
Mount  Calvary  as  a  great,  green  hill.  How  well 
he  remembered  the  words  of  that  beautiful  hymn, 
"There  is  a  green  hill  far  away,  without  a  city 
wall."  He  could  almost  hear  the  appealing  voice 
of  the  contralto  as  she  used  to  sing  it  in  the  choir, 
and  now  they  showed  him,  as  Mount  Calvary, 
this  corner  of  a  church  that  was  certainly  inside 
the  wall. 

Slowly  the  anxious  boy  climbed  the  narrow 
stone  steps  that  brought  him  to  the  pilgrims.  He 
recalled  with  misgivings  that  he  had  neglected 
to  say  his  prayers  a  good  many  times  lately. 
Perhaps  that  was  the  trouble.  Perhaps  he  would 
get  more  help  if  he  asked  for  more.  It  was  being 
so  much  with  Jack  McGreggor  that  had  made 
him  neglect  these  things.  Jack  \vas  a  boy  who 
never  spoke  of  religion,  never  thought  of  it,  prob 
ably.  All  he  cared  about  was  making  jokes,  and 
taking  pictures,  and  getting  a  lot  to  eat. 

Suddenly  Harold  thought  of  his  appointment 
at  four  o'clock,  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was 
half-past  four!  How  the  time  had  gone!  He 
was  just  turning  to  withdraw  when  a  venerable 
Russian  pilgrim,  with  high  cheek-bones  and 
white,  flowing  beard,  lifted  his  hand ;  whereupon 

192 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHER 

the  chanting  ceased,  and,  with  one  accord,  the 
whole  band  of  men  and  women,  their  eyes  shin 
ing  with  devotion,  knelt  down  upon  the  stone 
floor.  There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then,  in 
a  deep,  rich  voice,  the  leader  began  to  recite  the 
Lord's  Prayer. 

"Our  Father  ivlw  art  in  Heaven." 
Harold  knew  enough  Greek  to  understand  the 
words,  and  they  went  straight  to  his  aching  heart. 
He  could  not  resist  the  power  of  that  kneeling 
company.  They  were  queerly  dressed  people, 
poor  people,  but  they  were  getting  the  kind  of 
help  and  comfort  that  he  needed,  and,  with  a 
blessed  sense  of  relief,  the  boy  dropped  on  his 
knees,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  joined  in  the  great 
appeal.  If  God  would  only  help  him  to  find  his 
father  and  his  mother — and  would  save  them 
from  all  harm — and  would  give  him  wisdom  and 
courage  to — to  do  what  was  necessary. 

Soothed  and  strengthened,  Sandy  rose  to  his 
feet.  It  was  all  clear  to  him  now — he  must  have 
faith.  That  was  all  he  needed.  He  must  be 
sure,  as  his  mother  was  sure,  that  they  were 
guarded  and  guided  by  some  higher  power,  then 
everything  would  come  out  right.  Of  course  he 
must  do  his  best,  too,  and — he  was  sorry  he  had 
had  unkind  thoughts  about  Jack. 

193 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Suddenly  Harold  started  forward.  Why— 
what  an  extraordinary  thing!  Then  he  drew 
back,  moved  cautiously  toward  the  steps,  and 
then  stole  quickly  out  of  the  church.  A  most  ex 
traordinary  thing,  indeed !  He  had  seen  John 
McGreggor  kneeling  among  the  pilgrims ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    RED    DOOR 

EARLY  the  next  morning",  the  boys  set  out 
for  Bethlehem  in  pursuit  of  the  Greek 
monk.  They  expected  to  be  back  in  Jerusalem 
that  same  evening,  but  Deeny  had  quoted  a  wise 
Turkish  proverb  to  the  effect  that  the  rising  sun 
never  knows  what  the  setting  sun  will  see,  and 
this  gave  Harold  the  fortunate  inspiration  of  pro 
viding  Telecjian  with  food  and  water  for  three 
full  days.  "Which,  as  it  turned  out,  saved  the 
imprisoned  Syrian  from  suffering'. 

In  addition  to  Nasr-ed-Din,  the  young  Amer 
icans  were  attended  on  their  journey  by  a  highly 
decorative  dragoman  named  Amurath  Gargulio, 
who,  with  his  pearl-handled  short  sword,  his  gilt 
tassels,  and  his  wide,  blue  sash,  looked  like  a 
comic-opera  villian.  Amurath  provided  four 
horses  and  his  own  services  for  the  immense 
honor  of  serving  two  such  "vair  disteenguish 
Amurican  gents,"  so  he  declared,  and  then  stood 
out  for  three  liras  (twelve  dollars)  for  the  ex- 

195 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

cursion,  but  allowed  Deeny  to  bargain  him  down 
to  one  and  a  half — after  much  lively  parleying. 

It  is  a  beautiful  four-mile  ride  from  Jerusalem 
to  the  City  of  David,  and  the  road  is  fairly  good. 
Carriages  travel  over  it,  and  squeaking  bullock 
carts,  and  donkey  trains,  and  camel  caravans,  be 
sides  picturesque  peasants  and  weary  pilgrims, 
trudging  along  bravely  through  the  dust  and 
heat.  From  all  of  these  the  young  horsemen,  as 
they  passed,  received  respectful  salutations, 
which  made  them  feel  like  two  princes  of  the 
blood.  Indeed,  they  presented  quite  an  imposing 
appearance  in  their  helmets  and  pugrees,  their 
fresh  linen  suits,  and  their  neatly  strapped  riding- 
leggins. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  covered  about  half  a 
mile  that  Jack  confessed  that  he  had  never  sat 
on  a  horse  before. 

"You  see  I  'm  pretty  good  on  a  bicycle,"  he 
puffed,  "and  I  figured  that  a  horse  would  be  like 
a  bicycle  with  a — a  jiggley  wheel  at  each  corner, 
only — there  's  a  lot  of  up  and  down  motion. 
Whoa  there,  you  brute!" 

Harold  tried  not  to  smile. 

"Grip  him  tighter  with  your  knees  and — don't 
let  him  jounce  you  over  his  neck.  Sit  back. 
That 's  better." 

196 


THE  RED  DOOR 

"I  '11  be  all  right  if  I  can  only — Whoa  there! 
If  I  can  only  get  the  hang  of  these  stirrups." 

As  they  passed  along,  Amurath  pointed  out 
the  famous  pools  of  Solomon,  three  great  rock 


Rachel's  Tomb. 

reservoirs  built  thousands  of  years  ago  to  supply 
water  to  the  Holy  City ;  also  a  small  white-washed 
building  by  the  roadside  that  is  known  as  the 
tomb  of  Rachel,  and  is  much  reverenced;  also 
various  scenes  from  the  familiar  stories  of  David 
and  Ruth. 

''\Yhat  a  lot  of  wonderful  things !"  marveled 
McGreggor. 

197 


THE  LAXD  OF  MYSTERY 

"Here  's  the  most  wonderful  of  them  all,"  said 
Harold,  a  moment  later,  as  they  reached  the  top 
of  a  rise  of  ground  "Pull  up.  Jack,  and  look- 
over  there.  In  all  the  states,  under  all  the  stars 
and  stripes,  we  have  n't  got  anything  as  wonder 
ful  as  that  little  town;  that 's  Bethlehem." 


A  distant  view  of  Bethlehem. 

On  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the  boys  drew  rein  and 
looked  down  on  a  picture  that  an  artist  would 
have  loved  to  paint,  a  spread  of  pleasant  harvest- 
time  colors,  yellows  and  browns  of  the  ripe 
grain  fields,  greens  of  the  pasture,  and  deeper 
greens  of  olive  orchards  dotting  the  landscape 
down  the  gentle  valley  and  reaching  up  the  pur 
ple  hills  beyond, — hills  that  bore  proudly  on  their 
shoulders  the  snow-white  City  of  David,  now  out- 

198 


THE  RED  DOOR 

lined   clearly  against   the  blue   of   the   southern 
sky. 

"So  that  is  Bethlehem!"  murmured  Jack,  and 
then  fell  silent,  for  what  is  a  hoy  to  say  at  such 
a  moment — or  a  man  either,  for  that  matter? 

They  rode  on  a  little  way  without  speaking", 
and  presently  Nasr-ed-Din  came  clattering  along 
side  on  his  big  gray  horse,  with  an  important 
piece  of  news  which  he  communicated  eagerly  to 
Harold,  pointing  to  a  low  building  with  a  white 
dome  that  rose  in  the  distance  across  a  waste  of 
stony  ground. 

"What  is  it?  Wh-what's  he  saying?"  asked 
Jack,  tugging  at  his  horse.  "Tell  me,  Sandy." 

"Deeny  's  been  talking  with  a  donkey  driver 
back  there,  and — it  seems  this  donkey  driver 
knows  all  about  Basil,  the  Greek  monk.  He  says 
we  're  apt  to  find  Basil  over  there.  See  that  little 
white  dome?" 

"W-well ?— Whoa,  there!" 

"It  seems  there  's  something  queer  about  it.  I 
did  n't  quite  get  the  idea,  only — Hello !  What 's 
the  matter  with  you?" 

Harold  turned  sharply  to  the  dragoman,  who 
was  edging  up  to  them  on  his  horse,  and  listening 
with  evident  uneasiness. 

Amurath  stammered  forth  a  confused  explana- 
199 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

tion  as  to  why  they  must  be  hurrying  on  to  Beth 
lehem. 

"Don't  you  worry,  my  friend,"  answered 
Harold.  "\Ye  '11  get  to  Bethlehem  all  right,  but 
— I  want  to  know  about  that  building.  See? 
The  one  with  the  white  dome." 

The  dragoman  shot  a  queer,  sidelong  glance  at 
Harold,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  Jack  saw  him 
clutch  nervously  at  an  amulet  of  blue  beads  that- 
hung  from  his  horse's  bridle.  This  amulet  was 
supposed  to  keep  off  the  evil  eye. 

"It  ees  nothing,  sair,"  he  declared,  and  then 
went  on  rapidly  to  say  that,  if  they  would  ride 
ahead  a  short  distance,  he  would  show  them  a 
miraculous  spring  in  a  wonderful  cave. 

But  the  boys  cut  him  short.  They  had  seen 
caves  enough  to  last  them  for  some  time.  Be 
sides,  they  were  interested  in  this  building  with 
the  white  dome,  and  proposed  to  have  a  look  at 
it.  Tn  vain  the  dragoman  tried  to  dissuade  them 
from  this  purpose.  His  arguments  and  excuses 
only  strengthened  their  determination. 

"Come!"  ordered  Harold.  "No  more  talking. 
We  're  going  to  ride  over  there — right  now." 
He  turned  his  horse  from  the  road  toward  the 
waste  of  stony  ground. 

"No,  no!"  cried  Amurath,  his  eyes  wide  with 
200 


'I  want  to  know  about  that  building.     See?     The  one  with  the 
white  dome." 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

fear.  "You  must  not  go,  sair.  It  ees — it  ees 
vair  dang'russ." 

"Ah!  Then  you  do  know  what  it  is?"  put  in 
Jack. 

"Yes,  sair,  I — T  know,"  confessed  the  troubled 
servant,  but  he  would  not  reveal  his  knowledge, 
only  insisting  that  he  "muss  pertect  two  such 
vair  disteenguish  Amurican  gents." 

"Don't  you  worry.  \Ye  can  look  after  our 
selves,"  replied  Harold.  "Come  on  !" 

At  this  Amurath  threw  up  his  chin  and  clucked 
his  tongue  in  solemn  refusal.  He  would  not  go. 
If  the  young  gentlemen  insisted  on  going  alone, 
he  could  not  prevent  it,  but — the  risk  must  be  on 
their  own  heads. 

Whereupon  the  young  gentlemen,  with  some 
impatience,  decided  to  take  the  risk,  and  the  end 
of  it  was  that  Amurath  remained  stubbornly  be 
hind  at  the  roadside,  fingering  his  blue  amulet 
and  following  the  boys  with  looks  of  gloomy  fore 
boding  as,  accompanied  by  Nasr-ed-Din,  they  set 
forth  for  the  mysterious  white  dome. 

"It's  queer — the  way  that  fellow  acts!"  mut 
tered  Harold,  as  they  guided  their  horses  in  and 
out  among  jagged  boulders. 

"He  's  probably  just  lazy,"  suggested  Jack. 

A  short  distance  farther  on,  they  came  upon 
202 


THE  RED  DOOR 


two  girls  clad  in  coarse  garments  of  blue  and 
green — the  typical  Bethlehem  costume — who 
were  gleaning  in  the 
stony  harvest-field  as 
poor  women  have  gleaned 
for  centuries  in  this  ill- 
nourished  land.  Think 
ing  to  gain  some  infor 
mation  from  them,  young 
Evans  drew  in  his  horse, 
and,  holding  up  a  piece  of 
silver,  beckoned  to  the 
girls.  They  came  for 
ward  laughing,  and, 
throwing  back  their  white 
veils,  stood,  half-em 
barrassed,  half-amused, 
while  McGreggor  noticed 
strings  of  silver  coins 
braided  in  their  dark  hair. 

"Shu    nek    bina    dir?" 

("\Yhat  is  that  building  there?")  questioned 
Harold  in  his  pleasantest  manner,  as  he  pointed 
to  the  white  dome. 

It  was  a  simple  question,  but  it  produced  a 
startling  change  in  the  two  girls.  In  an  instant, 
their  smiles  and  friendliness  vanished,  and, 

203 


A  Bethlehem  girl. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

without  further  thought  of  the  proffered  money, 
they  drew  their  veils  over  frightened  faces,  and, 
springing  away,  ran  across  the  field  as  fast  as 
they  could  go,  crying,  "Altun  At!  Aman! 
A I  tun  At!"  ("The  golden  horse.  Oh !  the  golden 
horse!") 

'What 's  the  trouble?  \Yhat  are  they  shriek 
ing  about?"  asked  McGreggor. 

"I  have  n't  the  least  idea,"  replied  Harold. 
"  'Altun  At'  is  Turkish  for  'the  golden  horse,' 
but  what  a  golden  horse  has  to  do  with  this  is 
more  than  T  know." 

Here  Nasr-ed-Din  came  forward  with  an  ex 
planation.  His  keen  eyes  had  been  studying  the 
low  building,  now  only  a  few  hundred  yards  dis 
tant,  and  had  made  out  the  figure  of  a  golden 
horse  surmounting  the  dome. 

"Deeny  's  right !"  agreed  McGreggor,  looking 
through  his  field-glass  (they  were  really  Telec- 
jian's).  "I  see  a  golden  horse  and  a  golden 
rider." 

"Maybe  it 's  a  big  weather-vane,"  suggested 
Evans,  "but  I  don't  see- 
He  paused,  frowning,  while  Jack  thoughtfully 
screwed  down  his  field-glasses  and  put  them  back 
in  their  case. 

"Neither  do  I.  Why  should  those  girls  be 
204 


THE  RED  DOOR 

afraid  of  a  little  gold  man  on  a  little  gold  horse?" 

"There  's  somebody  there  besides  the  little  gold 
man,"  muttered  Sandy,  and  his  lips  tightened  as 
they  drew  near  to  a  heavy  iron-bound  gate  in  a 
massive  stone  wall  that  surrounded  the  building. 

McGreggor  lowered  his  voice.  "You  mean — 
Basil?" 

Evans  nodded.  "That 's  what  I  mean.  If 
Deeny  's  got  it  straight,  we  're  going  to  see  the 
man  we  Ve  been  looking  for,  and — Jack — old  boy 
—you  're  with  me?" 

Harold's  face  was  pale,  and  there  was  just  the 
slightest  quiver  in  his  voice  as  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  his  friend.  The  great  moment  had 
come.  Something  was  about  to  happen,  and 
both  boys  knew  it. 

"I  'm  with  you,  Sandy,"  answered  McGreggor, 
and  he  leaned  forward  along  the  neck  of  his 
mount  to  clasp  Evan's  hand;  but  just  at  that 
moment  the  gate  in  the  wall  swung  open,  and 
three  huge  wolf-dogs  rushed  out,  showing  ugly, 
white  fangs,  and  snarling  fiercely.  Jack's  horse 
shied  and  reared  back  suddenly,  with  the  result 
that  the  boy  certainly  would  have  been  thrown 
had  not  Nasr-ed-Din  come  to  the  rescue. 

Harold,  meantime,  had  sprung  to  earth,  and 
quickly  gathered  up  some  large  stones.  Then, 

205 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

waiting  until  the  dogs  were  almost  on  him,  he 
hurled  these  stones  with  sure  aim. 

"You  brutes!"  he  shouted.  "There!  And 
there!  Now,  then!  Ah!  It's  all  right,  Jack. 
See  'em  run."  Evans  watched  the  dogs  as  they 
scurried  back  through  the  gate,  yelping  and  limp 
ing. 

And  now,  stepping  forward  resolutely,  the  boy 
lifted  his  riding-whip  and  struck  the  handle  three 
times  in  sounding  summons  against  the  open  por 
tal.  Jack  was  close  behind  him,  while  Nasr-ed- 
Din  came  last,  leading  the  horses. 

Presently  a  red-eyed,  frowsy-looking  servant 
in  peasant's  costume,  his  bare  feet  thrust  into 
wooden  shoes,  came  shuffling  forward,  and 
showed  them  into  a  stone  courtyard  with  arches 
and  doors  opening  out  of  it.  Through  one  of 
these  doors  came  the  sound  of  shrill  talking, 
through  another  a  wailing  song. 

"Is  the  monk  Basil  here?"  began  Harold  in 
Turkish. 

The  servant  stared  in  dull  surprise. 

"Don't  you  understand?  I  want  the  Greek 
monk  Basil.  What  do  you  speak?  Arabic?" 

The  servant  continued  to  stare,  then,  presently, 
he  moistened  his  thin  lips  and  answered  in  Eng- 

206 


THE  RED  DOOR 

lish,  a  kind  of  slow,  far-away  English  that  he 
might  have  learned  in  a  hook. 

"You — wish — to — see  the — monk  Basil?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Evans  sharply.  "He  's  the 
head  of  this  place,  is  n't  he  ?" 

"Yes— sir." 

"Well,  he's  here,  is  n't  he?" 

Again  the  servant  did  not  answer,  but,  pointing 
to  a  door  under  the  nearest  archway,  he  hacked 
down  the  courtyard,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
Americans  in  fascinated  interest. 

"He  's  a  queer  chap,"  reflected  Jack.  "I  s'pose 
he  means  that  our  friend  Basil  is  in  there  where 
he  pointed." 

"We  '11  soon  find  out,"  said  Harold,  starting 
toward  the  archway;  but  scarcely  had  he  taken 
two  steps  in  this  direction,  when  he  was  stopped 
by  a  heavy  sound,  and  turning,  he  saw  that  the 
gate  in  the  massive  wall  had  been  closed.  And 
before  the  gate  stood  a  formidable  fellow  wear 
ing  a  black  astrakhan  hat,  a  purple  jacket  em 
broidered  with  silver,  and  under  this  a  yellow  silk 
vest  across  which  ran  diagonally  two  rows  of 
shining  cartridges.  At  his  side  hung  a  pair  of 
daggers,  and,  carelessly  poised  over  his  arm,  was 


a  Remington  rifle. 


207 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"A  Xeibeck !"  1  muttered  Harold. 
"A  what?"  asked  McGreggor. 


"Wait!  Deeny!  Come  here,"  beckoned  Evans. 

1  The  Xeibecks  are  described  by  the  Reverend  Edwin  M.  Bliss, 
in  bis  book  on  Turkey,  as  a  tribe  of  fierce  mountaineers  ill 
Asiatic  Turkey,  noted  for  their  lawless  ways. 

208 


Still  leading  the  horses,  Xasr-ed-Din  came  for 
ward  over  the  flat  stones,  and  stood  before  his 
master,  watching  the  man  at  the  gate,  meantime, 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

They  spoke  in  low  tones,  the  boy  and  the  griz 
zled  Turk,  and  it  seemed  to  Jack  that  Nasr-ed-Din 
was  appealing  to  Harold  to  leave  the  place. 

"Sandy,  what  is  he  saying?  Does  he  think 
we  ought  to  get  out  of  here?  Tell  me,"  said 
Jack. 

"It  does  n't  matter  what  he  thinks.  We  'TC 
got  to  do  the  thinking,"  answered  Evans,  and  he 
gave  quick  instructions  to  the  Turk.  "I  'm  tell 
ing  him  to  wait  here  with  the  horses  while  we  go 
inside.  He  's  armed,  and — if  that  chap  tries  to 
start  anything — well,  you  know  what  Deeny  is." 

"Yes,  but,  Sandy— " 

Evans  turned  gravely  to  his  friend.  "Jack,  you 
know  what  we  're  here  for,"  he  said ;  and  there 
was  something  so  inspired  in  his  look  that  Mc- 
Greggor's  protests  ceased;  he  felt  himself  thril 
ling  with  his  friend's  brave  spirit.  After  all, 
this  was  what  they  had  come  for,  to  see  the  Greek 
monk ;  upon  this  depended  their  chance  of  finding 
Dr.  Evans. 

"All  right,  old  boy,"  answered  McGreggor,  and 
he  followed  Sandy  through  the  gloomy  archway. 

209 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

The  boys  now  came  into  a  small,  dimly  lighted 
chapel  whose  walls  were  painted  in  dull  red  and 
gold.  At  one  end,  before  a  battered  altar,  two 
candles  were  burning  in  tall  candlesticks.  No 
one  was  in  sight. 

"Stay  here,"  whispered  Evans. 

Moving  softly,  he  pushed  aside  a  leather-bound 
curtain  and  came  into  a  sort  of  alcove  recess.  At 
one  side  of  this  was  an  iron-barred  window  and 
beyond  these  bars  he  discovered  a  youth  of 
slender  figure  in  a  richly  embroidered  garment. 
This  youth  stood  perfectly  still,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  boy  in  wistful  wonder  and  Harold  noticed 
on  his  fingers  a  number  of  costly  rings. 

Sandy  was  about  to  question  this  poor  prisoner 
when  his  ear  caught  the  echo  of  angry  words  in 
the  courtyard  and  he  hurried  back  to  McGreg- 
gor. 

"What  is  it?  What 's  the  trouble?"  he  asked 
quickly. 

Jack  was  listening,  white-faced. 

"I — I  don't  know,"  he  trembled.  "You  can't 
see  out  of  these  windows.  They  're  too  high." 

Harold  rushed  to  the  entrance,  but  the  door 
was  barred  against  him. 

"Deeny !"  he  shouted,  rattling  the  lock. 

The  only  answer  was  the  sound  of  a  struggle 
210 


THE  RED  DOOR 

outside  with  confused  cries,  the  stamping  of 
frightened  horses,  the  snarling  of  the  wolf-dogs, 
then  a  shot. 

"Deeny!"  the  boy  shouted  again  with  all  his 
strength.  "Deeny !" 

And  now,  above  the  tumult,  Harold  made  out 
the  voice  of  his  faithful  servant  lifted  in  a  des 
perate  cry:  "Aman  Effcndi!  Jannini  kurtar!" 
("Dear  master,  save  yourself!") 

.Then  there  fell  a  silence,  while  the  boys  stared 
at  each  other  with  ashen  faces.  What  had  hap 
pened?  What  was  going  to  happen? 

At  this  moment,  a  small  window  on  the  other 
side  of  the  chapel  was  pushed  up  cautiously,  and 
the  frowsy  servant  climbed  in,  panting. 

"This  way !     Quick !     You  can — escape !" 

Jack  rushed  to  the  window. 

"We  'd  better  go,  Sandy." 

Sandy  Evans  stood  still,  his  hands  clenched,  his 
breath  coming  quickly.  He  was  afraid.  There 
was  danger  all  about  them.  Deeny  had  fallen. 
Jack  was  ready  to  leave  him,  and — the  boy  was 
about  to  spring  toward  the  window  when,  sud 
denly,  something  steadied  him.  He  thought  of 
liis  mother.  He  remembered  her  tender  blessing 
there  by  the  pyramid:  "And  us  to  Thy  service." 
Perhaps  this  was  Jiis  service.  Perhaps  this  was 

211 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

to  be  the  test  of  his  faith.  If  so — well,  he 
breathed  a  quick  little  prayer  for  strength  that  he 
might  not  fail.  Then  he  turned  to  the  servant. 

"Wait!"  he  said.  "Did  you  tell  the  Greek 
monk  that  I  want  to  see  him  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  but—  '  the  man  shot  a  frightened 
glance  towards  a  small  red  door  in  the  chapel 
wall. 

"Is  he  in  there?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Yes,  sir,  but—" 

"Come,  Sandy,"  pleaded  Jack. 

"I  'm  not  going,"  said  Evans  in  a  quiet  voice. 

A  heavy  tread  sounded  from  beyond  the  red 
door  and  seemed  to  be  coming  towards  them. 

"Quick,  sir!"  begged  the  servant. 

McGreggor's  lips  were  white. 

"I — I  can't  stand  this,  Sandy,"  he  stammered 
and,  springing  into  the  window,  he  wriggled  his 
way  through  and  disappeared  outside.  The 
servant  followed  him,  leaving  Sandy  Evans 
alone,  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  sinister  red 
door. 

There  was  just  a  second's  pause,  then,  driven 
by  some  strange  power  within  him,  Harold 
moved  toward  the  door.  He  knew  he  was  going 
to  open  it.  He  knew  that  nothing  now  could 
keep  him  from  opening  it.  He  felt  his  heart 

212 


THE  RED  DOOR 

pounding-,  and — with  a  last  effort,  he  turned  the 
knob  and  strode  forward. 

Immediately  the  boy  found  himself  in  a  wide, 
vault-like  chamber  lighted  by  two  flaring  torches 
that  projected  from  niches  in  the  stone  walls.  In 
the  middle  of  this  chamber  stood  the  bearded 
monk  Basil  in  his  black  robes  and  black  hat — 
Harold  recognized  the  cruel  face  that  he  had  seen 
the  day  before  in  Jerusalem.  And,  beside  him, 
were  two  Xeibecks. 

Basil's  face  darkened  at  the  sight  of  the  young 
American. 

"How  dare  you  come  in  here?"  he  burst  out  in 
English.  "I  '11  show  you  what  it  means  to  force 
yourself  upon  me."  He  spoke  rapidly  to  the 
Xeibecks,  who  bowed  in  grim  understanding,  and 
advanced  upon  young  Evans. 

"Ghcuturiu!"  ("Take  him!")  roared  Basil. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  said  Harold.  "I'm  an 
American  citizen.  My  name  is  Harold  Evans. 
I  'm  the  son  of  Wicklow  Evans.  You  know  all 
about  him,  and  T  Ve  come  here  to  ask  you— 

The  boy  paused  for  breath,  and  at  that  moment 
there  came  a  startling  change  in  the  monk's  ex 
pression.  It  was  as  if  he  had  suddenly  remem 
bered  something  that  he  wished  to  forget,  some 
thing  that  filled  him  with  extraordinary  agitation. 

213 


'Don't  touch  me!"  said  Harold.     "I'm  an  American  citizen." 


THE  RED  DOOR 

"Wait !"  Basil  ordered,  and  waved  back  the 
ruffians.  Then,  with  his  hard,  black  eyes  fixed 
on  Harold,  he  stood  silent,  breathing  heavily  and 
twisting  his  beard  in  his  thick,  white  fingers. 

"You — you  came  here  from  Cairo?"  he  asked 
hoarsely. 

"Yes." 

"You  went  inside  the  Great  Pyramid — did 
you?  You — found  something  there?  Tell  me, 
boy." 

"I  found  a  message  from  my  father,"  answered 
Harold.  "He  told  me  to  come  to  you." 

The  monk  gave  a  gasp,  and  clenched  his  fists 
so  hard  that  his  whole  body  trembled. 

"It 's  true !"  he  muttered.  "It  must  be  true !" 
Then,  as  if  still  doubting,  "Why  did  you  go  in 
side  the  pyramid  ?  ll'hy?"  His  eyes  were  trou 
bled  with  a  haunted,  anxious  look. 

"My  mother  sent  me  there,"  the  boy  said 
quietly.  "She  dreamed  this  message  was  on  the 
wall.  It  was  n't  exactly  a  dream.  She — she 
knew  it  was  there." 

"A  vision !"  whispered  Basil,  and,  lifting  his 
black  hat,  he  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow.  Then,  in  a  low  tone,  with  all  his  arro 
gance  gone:  "I  have  tried  to  frighten  you;  I 
have  tried  to  drive  you  away,  but — you  are  a 

215 


brave  boy;  you  are  your  father's  own  son,  and — 
now  I  must  tell  you  everything." 

Harold  stared  in  utter  amazement  at  this  in 
credible  change  in  the  strange  man  that  he  was 
facing. 

"You  mean  you  will  tell  me — about  my 
father?"  he  cried. 

"I  W7ill  tell  you  everything  you  wish  to  know, 
but — not  here — at  Bethlehem.  Come !'' 

With  a  gesture  bordering  on  humility,  Basil 
swung  open  the  heavy  door,  and  pointed  the  way 
to  the  courtyard. 


216 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    MONK'S    CONFESSION 

BASIL  and  Harold  passed  out  into  the  court 
yard,  and  there  found  Nasr-ed-Din  groan 
ing  on  a  bench.  Poor  Deeny!  He  had  fought 
with  all  his  heart  and  strength,  and  had  only 
yielded  after  being  shot  in  the  arm,  and  finally 
clubbed  into  submission. 

"Somebody  's  going  to  pay  for  this !"  burst  out 
Harold,  as  he  stood  beside  his  faithful  follower. 

Basil  smiled  bitterly. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed;  "somebody  is  going  to  pay 
heavily.  /  am  going  to  pay." 

At  this  moment,  there  came  a  pounding  on  the 
courtyard  gate,  with  a  sound  of  excited  voices 
outside.  And,  above  the  tumult,  rose  a  voice  that 
Harold  recognized,  calling,  "Sandy!  Sandy!" 

"John  McGreggor !"  shouted  Harold,  hurrying 
to  the  gate,  and,  a  moment  later,  Jack  rushed  in, 
followed  by  a  crowd  of  peasants,  men  and  boys, 
armed  with  sticks,  stones  and  knives. 

"Come  on !  Haidcc!  IJaldcc!"  yelled  McGreg- 
217 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

gor,  making  the  most  of  his  Turkish,  and  brand 
ishing  a  pistol.  "Sandy!"  He  stopped  short, 
white-faced  and  panting,  as  he  saw  his  friend. 
"Sandy!  They— they  haven't  hurt  you?" 

"I  'm  all  right,  Jack.  Deeny  's  the  one  that 's 
hurt.  There!"  He  pointed  to  the  wounded 
Turk. 

"I  'm  ashamed  of  myself,  Sandy,  the  way  I— 
went  off  and — and — left  you,"  stammered  Mc- 
Greggor.  "I  got  so  rattled  and — and — I  wras  so 
scared,  I — "  He  looked  down  shamefacedly, 
shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and  kicking 
awkwardly  at  the  pavement  stones. 

"Cheer  up !"  said  Harold.  "You  were  n't  half 
as  scared  as  I  was.  I  did  n't  have  legs  enough 
to  run." 

"Honest?"  Jack  smiled  faintly  at  this  com 
forting  admission.  "You  don't  mean  it — do 
you?"' 

"Honest.  Say — where  did  you  get  your 
army  ?" 

"Picked  'em  up — in  the  fields  around  here," 
grinned  McGreggor.  "Shook  some  money  in 
their  faces  and  made  'em  understand  I  wanted 
'em  to  help  me  clean  out  this  place.  Can't  we 
do  it,  Sandy?  I  want  to  make  good  somehow." 

"You    have    made    good !"    declared    Evans. 
218 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

''Did  n't  I  see  you  sail  in  here  like  a  conquering1 
hero?  It  isn't  your  fault  if  the  queerest  thing 
in  the  world  has  happened." 

Then  Harold  took  his  friend  aside  and  related 
his  experience  with  the  Greek  monk. 

McGreggor  shook  his  head  incredulously. 
"He  's  up  to  some  queer  game  or  other.  If  he  '3 
going  to  tell  you  everything,  why  does  n't  he  do 
it?"1 

"He  will,  but — he  wants  to  go  to  Bethlehem 
first.  Then  he  '11  tell  us,"  said  Harold,  confi 
dently.  "You  '11  see." 

So  it  came  about  that  Harold  and  Jack  (hav 
ing  disbanded  McGreggor's  army),  rode  on  to 
the  clean  and  smiling  village,  the  City  of  David, 
that  spreads  its  white  houses  among  gardens  and 
vineyards  terraced  up  the  sides  of  a  rugged  hill. 
With  them  rode  Nasr-ed-Din,  despite  his  pain 
and  scorning  the  offer  of  a  seat  in  the  monk's 
carriage.  It  was  joy  at  finding  his  young  master 
safe  that  had  given  the  Turk  fresh  courage. 
His  wounds  were  nothing,  he  declared. 

Having  left  their  horses  at  a  Russian  convent 
near  the  Church  of  the  Nativity,  and  having  put 
Deeny,  much  against  his  will,  into  the  hands  of  a 
one-eyed  Arabian  doctor,  the  boys  followed  Basil 
to  his  house,  one  of  the  largest  and  most  preten- 

219 


Peasants  approaching  Bethlehem  at  night. 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

tious  in  the  town,  standing  in  a  garden  of  date- 
palms  just  beyond  the  famous  "Milk  Grotto.'' 
Here,  in  a  spacious  room  with  comfortable  divans 
ranged  along  the  walls  and  quite  bare  of  chairs, 
as  is  the  custom,  they  listened  with  tense  inter 
est  to  the  monk's  confession. 

"All  my  troubles  have  come,"  Basil  began,  "be 
cause  for  years  it  has  been  my  duty  to  deal  with 
peasants  and  pilgrims  so  ignorant  and  supersti 
tious  that  they  will  believe  anything  you  tell  them. 
For  instance,  there  is  a  cave  near  this  house 
called  the  'Milk  Grotto';  \ve  passed  it  just  now. 
According  to  tradition,  the  chalk  in  this  cave  has 
miraculous  health-giving  properties,  so  I  hit  upon 
the  idea  of  digging  out  chalk  anywhere  in  the 
surrounding  hills,  and  selling  it  as  coming  from 
the  Milk  Grotto." 

"But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  me,"  inter 
rupted  Harold  impatiently.  "You  promised  to 
tell  me  about  my  father." 

"Wait !  I  will  tell  you  everything,  but  it  must 
be  in  my  own  way.  This  business,  you  under 
stand,  was  a  fraud,  but  it  brought  in  money — a 
great  deal  of  money — and — it  led  me  into  other 
frauds.  I  was  a  poor  carpenter  at  this  time,  with 
a  little  shop  in  the  tower  of  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Sepulcher." 

221 


They  listened  with  absorbed  interest  to  Basil's  confession. 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

"I  know,''  said  the  boy. 

"I  soon  neglected  that  work  and  devoted  myself 
to  my  new  enterprise.  I  also  began  manufactur 
ing  crosses  and  rosaries  supposed  to  be  made  of 
olive  wood  from  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  the 
Garden  of  Gethsemane  but  really  made  of  any 
olive  wood.  Then  I  took  charge  of  the  place 
where  you  found  me.  It  is  a  sort  of  hospital 
where  people  are  kept  who  are  weak-minded,  and 
I  saw  a  way  to  make  more  money  here  by  pre 
tending  that  a  great  saint  came  in  the  night  on 
his  golden  horse  and  cured  some  of  these  people. 
The  idea  was  that  this  saint  worked  his  cures  in 
cases  where  the  friends  and  families  of  sick  per 
sons  brought  purses  of  gold  or  bags  of  grain 
and  gave  them  to  me.  In  this  wray  I  completed 
my  fortune  and  increased  my  power  until  every 
body  hated  me  and  feared  me." 

Here  a  silent  servant  appeared  with  Turkish 
coffee,  and  the  boys  sipped  this  fragrant  beverage 
from  egg-shell  cups  that  rested,  native  fashion, 
in  other  cups  of  hammered  brass. 

"About  a  year  ago,"  resumed  Basil,  "there  was 
brought  to  me  and — er — put  in  my  charge  an 
American  gentleman  who — 

"My  father !"  cried  Harold,  starting  to  his  feet. 

The  monk  bowed  gravely.  "It  is  true.  Dr. 
223 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Wicklow  Evans,  your  father,  was  brought  to  me 
— a  prisoner.  And  I  kept  him  in  that  place  where 
you  saw  the  golden  horse.  Please  sit  down." 

"My  father !"  repeated  the  boy,  in  a  half-daze. 
"What  have  you  done  with  my  father?  Tell  me! 
Tell  me !"  he  demanded. 

"I  have  promised  to  tell  you  everything,  sir, 
but — please  sit  down." 

"Sit  down,  Sandy.  Give  him  a  chance,"  urged 
Jack. 

"I — I  Ve  got  to  know  one  thing  right  off.  Is 
my  father — is  he  alive?"  Harold's  breath  came 
hard  as  he  waited  for  the  answer. 

"Yes." 

"Is  he — is  he  here — in  Bethlehem?" 

"No." 

"But  you  know  where  he  is?  You  're  sure  you 
know  where  he  is?" 

"I  am  sure  I  know  where  he  is." 

With  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  boy  settled  back  on 
the  divan,  and  Basil  continued: 

"I  may  as  well  explain  why  I  am  telling  you 
this,  and  why  I  did  not  use  force  against  you  this 
morning,  as  I  might  easily  have  done.  It  was  be 
cause  of  a  promise  made  to  your  father  while  he 
was  with  me.  I  made  this  promise  on  my  return 
from  a  journey  to  Jericho,  a  miserable  place  in 

224 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

the  Jordan  valley.  You  will  pass  that  way  going 
to  see  your  father,  and  1  warn  you  against  the 
flies.  Their  bite  is  deadly. 

"Well,  one  of  these  flies  bit  me  on  the  forehead, 
just  between  the  eyes,  and  I  had  an  ugly  sore 
there  with  a  swelling  that  grew  worse  and  worse, 
until  both  my  eyes  were  involved.  I  was  in  ter 
rible  pain,  and  the  Jerusalem  doctor  feared  I 
would  lose  my  sight.  Then  your  father  said  he 
could  help  me,  and — within  three  days  he  had 
cured  me." 

"Father  can  cure  almost  anything!"  exclaimed 
Harold,  proudly. 

"Without  going  into  details,  you  understand  I 
had  not  treated  Dr.  Evans  kindly,  and  he  had  re 
turned  good  for  evil.  At  first  I  hated  him  for 
being  so  cheery  and  forgiving.  But,  as  the  days 
passed  and  he  was  always  the  same,  always  anx 
ious  to  help  and  never  complaining,  I  could  not 
resist  his  influence,  and — I  saw  that  one  of  two 
things  must  happen ;  either  he  must  leave  this 
place  where  I  saw  him  constantly  or  I  must 
change  my  whole  life." 

"It  was  your  conscience  waking  up?"  ventured 
the  boy. 

The  monk  was  silent  a  moment,  and  when  he 
spoke  again,  it  was  in  a  gentler  tone. 

225 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Perhaps,  but — my  conscience  went  to  sleep 
again.  I  did  not  propose  to  have  my  prosperous 
business  interfered  with,  so  I  arranged  to  have 
Dr.  Evans  taken  away  to — another  place.  It  was 
impossible  to  be  in  his  presence  day  after  day  and 
not  grow  to  love  him  and — and  wish  to  be  like 
him.  Your  father  understood  why  1  was  send 
ing  him  away.  He  said  the  seed  was  growing  in 
my  heart.  He  said  that  some  day  I  would  give 
up  my  wricked  life  and — do  right.  He  said  that 
there  \vas  no  other  way  to  be  happy.  I  laughed 
at  him,  but — I  was  uneasy. 

"Then  there  was  another  thing.  Your  father 
declared  he  would  not  be  a  prisoner  very  long. 
He  was  sure  he  would  be  back  at  his  work  in 
Adana  in  a  few  months.  I  said  it  was  impossible, 
he  was  closely  watched,  he  had  no  chance  to  send 
a  letter,  and  none  of  his  friends  knew  where  he 
was. 

'  'My  wife  will  find  me/  he  said,  'or  my  old 
servant,  Nasr-ed-Din,  will  find  me,  or — my  boy 
will  find  me.'  " 

Harold's  face  was  radiant  as  he  heard  these 
words.  His  father  trusted  him !  His  father 
knew  that  his  son  would  not  fail  him ! 

"Oh!"  he  cried,  "did  my  father  say  that?" 

"Many  times;  and  I  always  laughed  at  him. 
226 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

'How  can  they  find  you?'  I  said.     'How  will  they 
ever  know  where  to  look  for  you?' 

'  'God  will  guide  them,'  he  answered,  and  then 
he  told  me  of  a  strange  thing  he  had  done  at  the 
Great  Pyramid.  It  seems  that,  after  he  was 
taken,  he  was  secreted  tor  a  short  time  in  one  of 
the  five  chambers  of  the  pyramid,  and — you  know 
about  the  message  he  wrote  there?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  boy,  impatiently. 

"I  don't  see  how  Dr.  Evans  happened  to  men 
tion  you  in  that  message,  Mr.  Basil,"  objected 
Jack.  "Did  he  know  you  then?  Had  he  ever 
seen  you  ?" 

"No,  but  the  men  who  captured  Dr.  Evans  told 
him  he  would  be  taken  to  Jerusalem  and  put  in 
my  charge,  so  he  knew  my  name.  And  he  prayed 
day  and  night  that  his  \vife  or  his  son  or  his  serv 
ant  might  be  led  to  the  pyramid,  and  might  read 
his  message. 

"I  told  him  this  was  ridiculous.  'Do  you  imag 
ine  that  any  prayer  of  yours,  here  in  Bethlehem,' 
I  said,  'can  make  people  journey  thousands  of 
miles  to  a  little  dark  room  in  Egypt  that  they 
never  have  heard  of?' 

'I  do,'  said  he.     'Prayer  can  do  more  than 
that.     You  wrill  believe  in  it  some  day,  my  friend/ 

"It  was  then  that  I  made  the  promise.     'Doc- 
227 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

tor,'  said  I,  'if  your  prayers  should  accomplish 
that,  if  they  should  bring  your  people  to  read  this 
message,  and  then  lead  them  to  me— 

Then  what?'  your  father  asked,  and  I  felt 
his  strong  power  dominating  me. 

'Then  I  will  help  those  who  come !'  T  said, 
and  it  was  like  a  vow. 

"The  next  day,  Dr.  Evans  was  taken  away 
that  was  ten  months  ago.  I  have  not  seen  him 
since.  I  have  tried  to  forget  him.  I  have  gone 
on  with  my  old  life,  but — the  promise  stands. 
The  impossible  thing  has  happened.  Your 
father's  prayers  have  been  answered.  You  are 
here.  You  need  help.  Very  well,  you  shall  have 
it.  It  will  ruin  me,  it  will  drive  me  out  of  the 
country,  but — I  will  keep  my  promise  to  your 
father." 

Harold  faced  the  monk  in  perplexity. 

"Why  will  it  ruin  you  to  keep  this  promise? 
Why  will  it  drive  you  out  of  the  country?"  he 
asked. 

"Because  the — person  who  had  your  father 
brought  here  is  powerful — terribly  powerful. 
When  he  finds  that  I  have  betrayed  his  trust,  my 
life  won't  be  worth  that''  the  monk  snapped  his 
fingers. 

"But — it  seems  to  me  you  betrayed  your  trust 
228 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

long  ago,"  objected  Sandy.  "You  say  you 
have  n't  seen  my  father  for  ten  months.  That 
does  n't  look  like  guarding  him  very  well." 

Basil  nodded  grimly.  "Your  father  has  been 
guarded  well  enough.  You  will  find  that  out, 
young  man,  when  you — when  you  try  to  see  him." 

Now  swiftly  Harold  put  the  all-important  ques 
tion:  "Where  is  my  father?" 

Both  boys  expected  that  the  monk  would  meet 
them  here  with  denial  or  evasion,  but  the  answer 
came  straight  and  prompt:  "In  the  convent  of 
Mar  Saba." 

"Mar  Saba?"  repeated  Evans. 

"Mar  Saba?"  echoed  Jack.  It  was  plain  that 
neither  of  them  had  ever  heard  of  the  place. 

"It  is  down  in  the  Dead  Sea  wilderness,  about 
twenty  miles  from  here,"  explained  the  monk. 
"It  is  built  like  a  fortress  against  a  precipice,  with 
a  great  gulf  beneath.  It  has  stood  there  for  fif 
teen  hundred  years." 

"You  say  it 's  a  convent  ?"  questioned  Jack. 
"I  thought  a  convent  was  a  place  for  women." 

Basil  explained  that  a  convent  is  a  community 
for  either  men  or  women  and  said  that  Mar 
Saba  was  occupied  by  some  sixty  Greek  monks 
who  lived  there  entirely  apart  from  the  world, 
spending  their  years  in  prayer  and  meditation. 

229 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

''Does  the  person  who  sent  my  father  to  you," 
asked  Harold,   "the  one  who  is  so  powerful- 
does  he  know  that  my  father  is  at  Mar  Saba?" 

"No." 

"He  has  not  found  it  out  in  all  these  months?" 

"No.  You  understand  that  this — person  does 
not  live  in  Palestine." 

"I  suppose  he  lives  in  Egypt?"  suggested  Mo 
Greggor. 

"Never  mind  where  he  lives,  and — don't  ask 
who  he  is.  I  have  promised  to  help  you  find  Dr. 
Wicklow  Evans;  that  is  all  I  have  promised." 

"That 's  enough,"  said  Harold. 

"If  you  follow  my  directions,  I  believe  you  can 
succeed ;  but  it  will  not  be  easy.  The  head  man 
at  Mar  Saba  who  guards  your  father  is  a  cun 
ning  fellow.  He  knows  my  secret,  he  discovered 
it,  and  I  have  had  to  pay  him  heavily — more  than 
half  of  what  I  receive.  He  will" not  easily  sur 
render  so  valuable  a  prisoner." 

Again  the  silent  servant  appeared  with  coffee, 
after  which  Basil  took  up  the  practical  matter  of 
the  boys'  journey  to  Mar  Saba. 

"The  Dead  Sea  valley  is  a  wild,  fever-stricken 
region  infested  by  robbers,"  he  said.  "Many 
travelers  have  been  held  up  there  and  plundered. 
You  must  know  the  dangers  and  be  prepared  to 

230 


THE  MONK'S  CONFESSION 

meet  them.  I  will  arrange  everything,  will  help 
you,  and  see  that  you  have  the  best  possible  chance 
of  finding  and  rescuing  Dr.  Evans,  on  condition 
that  you  wait  two  weeks  in  Jerusalem  before  you 
start.  You  must  promise  that.  And,  of  course, 
you  will  say  nothing  about  meeting  me  or  re 
ceiving  any  assistance  from  me?" 

The  boys  readily  agreed  to  do  this,  whereupon 
Basil  made  a  movement  as  if  to  end  the  inter 
view. 

"One  moment,  please,"  said  Harold,  with  the 
eager  earnestness  that  John  McGreggor  had  often 
admired.  "This  is  a  big  thing  you  are  doing  for 
us,  Mr.  Basil,  and — don't  think  me  impertinent, 
but — T  Tt(/.v//  you  'd  tell  me  why  you  want  us  to 
wait  two  weeks." 

The  monk  shook  his  head.  "You  must  not  ask 
that." 

But  Sandy  Evans  persisted.  "As  you  don't 
want  to  tell  me,  may  I  make  a  guess?  You  're 
going  to  leave  the  country  ?  You  're  going  to 
get  on  a  steamer  that  will  land  you  in  Italy,  or 
Spain,  or  maybe  America — some  place  where 
you  '11  be  safe  from  this  man  who  is  so  powerful. 
Is  that  it?" 

The  monk  hesitated.  "You  're  a  clever  boy," 
he  said  finally. 

231 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  only  put  two  and  two  together,  but — see 
here,  I  don't  believe  you  have  to  leave  the  coun 
try.  Why  can't  you  stay  right  here  where  you 
belong,  and — not  run  away." 

Basil  looked  wonderingly  into  the  strong  young 
face  before  him,  into  the  steadfast  gray  eyes  that 
met  his  unflinchingly. 

"Don't  move !"  he  said.  "Stay  like  that — just 
a  moment.  It 's  extraordinary !" 

"What  is?" 

"How  you  look  like  your  father — nozv!  And 
you  talk  like  your  father." 

"He  's  a  chip  of  the  old  block,"  laughed  Jack. 

"I  hope  I  do  look  like  my  father !"  said  Harold, 
proudly.  "I  wish  I  could  speak  like  him,  too.  If 
I  could,  I  'd  make  you  stay  in  Bethlehem  and  win 
out." 

"Why  should  you  care  what  I  do  or — what  be 
comes  of  me?"  sighed  the  monk. 

"I  do  care.  I  wish  you  'd  stay  and  square  your 
self  with  those  peasants  and  pilgrims  that  you  Ve 
been  cheating.  I  want  you  to  stop  all  this  fake 
business.  Will  you  do  it?  Say,  will  you ?" 

Basil  shook  his  head  gloomily.     "It 's  too  late !" 

"Why  is  it  too  late?  You  Ve  got  years  to  live. 
Do  you  think  you  Ml  ever  be  happy  if  you  run 
away?  Why,  you'll  remember  all  these  things 

232 


o 

3 

Q. 
O 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

that  you  Ve  done  and — hate  yourself.  My  father 
would  tell  you  to  stay  here  and  help  these  people 
that  need  you,  just  as  you  're  helping  me  when  I 
need  you.  Father  was  right — the  seed  w as  grow 
ing  in  your  heart.  He  said  you  'd  give  up  your 
wicked  life.  Well,  you  will.  You  Ve  done  it 
already.  That 's  why  you  kept  your  promise. 
You  did  n't  dare  break  it.  You  said  so  yourself. 
And  now  you  won't  dare  to  run  away  from  this 
thing  that  you  ought  to  do.  You  won't  dare  be 
a  quitter;  you  won't  dare!" 


234 


THE    MOUNTAINS   OF    JUDATI 

IX  spite  of  Harold's  inspired  outburst,  Basil 
insisted  that  the  young-  travelers  put  off  their 
departure  for  Mar  Saba  at  least  two  weeks.  It 
was  on  this  condition  only  that  the  monk  would 
give  them  his  promised  help,  and  the  boys  soon 
realized  that  without  this  they  would  be  sorely 
embarrassed.  A  journey  into  the  Dead  Sea  val 
ley  was  in  itself  a  hazardous  undertaking,  but 
for  two  inexperienced  lads  to  attempt  the  rescue 
of  a  prisoner  from  a  fortress — it  amounted  to 
that — without  knowing  exactly  what  they  were 
doing  and  how  they  proposed  to  accomplish  it, 
this  was  a  piece  of  hopeless  folly.  Furthermore, 
there  was  the  problem  of  Telecjian. 

"Poor  old  Ashrag! — down  in  the  coal-bin. 
What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him?"  wondered 
Jack. 

"I  've  been  thinking  about  that,"  said  Sandy. 
"It 's  quite  a  sticker.  \Ye  can't  leave  him  down 

235 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

in  those  quarries  to  starve,  and  we  can't  let  him 
out,  and  we  can't  take  him  with  us." 

For  two  days,  the  boys  (back  now  in  their  Jeru 
salem  quarters),  worried  over  this  problem;  and 
twice  Deeny,  whose  wounds  had  healed  rapidly, 
made  his  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  black 
caverns,  taking  food  and  water  to  the  Syrian. 
Then,  on  the  third  day,  the  difficulty  was  sud 
denly  relieved  through  no  less  a  person  than 
Basil  himself,  who  came  to  Harold  in  joyful  ex 
citement,  having  in  some  way  learned  of  Telec- 
jian's  confinement  in  the  quarries. 

"Rut — this  makes  a  great  difference  to  me!" 
the  monk  exclaimed.  "This  man  is  my  enemy. 
He  was  employed  to  follow  you  just  as  I  was  em 
ployed  to  watch  your  father." 

"By  the  same  person  ?"  asked  Evans. 

"Yes,  and — don't  you  see  ?  He  knows  what  I 
have  done.  He  has  me  in  his  power — that  is  to 
say,  he  had  me  in  his  power,  but  now— 

Harold  shook  his  head  disapprovingly.  "See 
here,  if  you  think  you  're  going  to  work  off  any 
old  grudge  you  Ve  got  against  Telecjian  just  be 
cause  he  's  down  there  helpless — " 

"No,  no!  I  don't  mean  that.  I  only  ask  to 
make  terms  with  him.  He  wants  his  liberty.  He 

236 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  JUDAH 

will  leave  the  country.  That  is  the  best  thing  for 
all  of  us." 

"Leave  the  country,"  reflected  Sandy.  "If  you 
can  make  Telecjian  leave  the  country — " 

"Make  him  ?"  Basil  smiled  mysteriously.  "My 
young  friend,  he  will  board  the  first  ship  that 
sails  and  get  away  so  fast  that — wait  and  see." 

And,  sure  enough,  three  days  later,  the  coin 
collector,  with  furtive  glances  over  his  shoulder 
and  an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes  (so  the  U.  S. 
consular  agent  noticed)  steamed  away  from  the 
orange  groves  of  Jaffa,  from  the  clustered  mem 
ories  of  Jonah,  Andromeda,  and  Hardegg.  As 
Jack  expressed  it,  it  seemed  a  safe  guess  that  he 
would  collect  no  more  coins  in  Palestine. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  how  Brother  Basil 
worked  this,"  pondered  Harold;  "I  guess  there  's 
more  in  it  than  we  understand,  Jack,  but  it  looks 
to  me  as  if  \ve  Ve  rather  handed  it  to  Arshag 
Mesrop  Telecjian." 

"Well,  just  a  little,"  grinned  McGreggor. 

While  the  boys  saw  the  wisdom  and  the  neces 
sity  of  trusting  Basil  to  make  arrangements  for 
the  Mar  Saba  expedition,  they  fretted  under  the 
delay. 

"If  you  could  only  hurry  things  up  a  little,  Mr. 
Basil,"  urged  Harold.  "Dceny  's  all  right  now, 

237 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

and — you  see  it 's  ten  days  that  we  've  been  held 
up  here.     What 's  the  matter  with  our  starting?" 

The  monk  shrugged  his  heavy  shoulders. 
"Start  if  you  will,  but  what  then?  Suppose  you 
get  to  Mar  Saba?  What  can  you  do  there?  I 
tell  you  the  place  is  a  fortress.  It  would  take  an 
army  to  capture  it." 

"But  there  must  be  some  way,"  insisted  Sandy. 
"Now  if  money  will  do  any  good." 

Basil  shook  his  head.  "If  it  was  only  a  ques 
tion  of  money,  I  would  give  a  thousand  liras  my 
self  to  get  your  father  safely  out  of  that  place." 

Harold's  heart  sank;  he  knew  that  a  thousand 
Turkish  liras  was  over  four  thousand  dollars. 

"Then  you  mean  there  's  no  use  in  our  going  to 
Mar  Saba  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  say  that." 

"Tell  you  what  we  '11  do,"  burst  out  McGreg- 
gor;  "we  '11  go  straight  to  the  United  States  con 
sul  in  Jerusalem,  and  tell  him  this  whole  story. 
We  '11  see  whether  American  citizens  have  any 
rights  or  not  in  this  crazy  land !" 

Basil  held  up  his  hand  in  warning. 

"No,  you  will  not  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  would  destroy  Dr.  Evans  instead 
of  saving  him." 

238 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  JUDAH 

The  man's  eyes  darkened  formidably. 

"I  'm  afraid  he 's  right,  Jack,"  whispered 
Evans.  "You  know  what  my  mother  wrote." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  put  in  McGreggor,  un 
convinced,  "that  the  person  back  of  all  this  is  big 
enough  to  get  away  with  the  United  States?" 

Basil  nodded  grimly.  "Before  the  United 
States  could  do  anything  to  help  Dr.  Evans,  it 
would  be  too  late." 

"But  you  Ve  been  encouraging  us  all  these 
days,"  protested  Harold.  "You  said  we  might 
succeed.  You  said  you  would  help  us?" 

"So  I  will,  but  you  must  be  patient." 

Then  the  monk  informed  them  that,  three  days 
before,  he  had  sent  his  trusted  servant,  Gabriel, 
down  into  the  Dead  Sea  valley  to  find  a  Bedouin 
named  Khalil,  the  leader  of  a  wandering  tribe, 
and  give  him  certain  instructions  looking  to  the 
rescue  of  Dr.  Wicklow  Evans. 

"This  man  Khalil,"  explained  Basil,  "is  re 
ceived  at  Mar  Saba  as  my  representative ;  he  sees 
the  prisoner  whenever  he  wishes.  I  shall  have 
more  to  tell  you  as  soon  as  Gabriel  returns." 

With  this  the  boys  had  to  be  content,  and  for 
three  days  they  chafed  through  the  hours,  taking 
more  pictures,  watching  the  crowds  of  pilgrims 
and  peasants  that  swarmed  through  the  Holy 

239 


City,  and  getting  a  bit  of  excitement  in  the  even 
ings  as  they  watched  the  activities  of  Nehemiah, 
a  scorpion-killer,  who,  with  lantern  on  his 
turbaned  head  and  bag  under  his  arm,  passed 
gravely  through  the  narrow  streets,  impaling  on 
his  quick  rapier  the  dangerous  black  pests  as  they 
scurried  over  the  walls. 

"Nice  country,"  remarked  Jack.  "Deadly 
flies  in  Jericho,  and  scorpions  in  Jerusalem." 

On  the  fourth  day,  very  early  in  the  morning, 
Gabriel  arrived  and  brought  good  news  from  the 
Bedouin,  it  appeared,  for  Basil  immediately  sent 
for  Harold  and  unfolded  his  plan  to  accomplish 
by  a  ruse  what  would  be  impossible  by  violence. 
McGreggor  was  not  present  at  this  interview,  and 
was  somewhat  chagrined  when  Harold  reported 
that  the  details  were  to  be  kept  secret  for  twenty- 
four  hours. 

"You  must  n't  be  offended,  Jack.  It  is  n't  any 
reflection  on  you.  Basil  thinks  we  might  talk 
about  the  thing  and — somebody  might  overhear 
us.  See?" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Jack,  a  little  stand 
offish;  but  he  soon  forgot  his  wounded  dignity 
when  he  learned  that  they  were  to  start  for  the 
Jordan  valley  in  a  few  hours,  and  threw  himself 
zealously  into  preparations  for  the  trip, 

240 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  JUDAH 


The  scorpion-killer  at  work. 

"How  long  will  we  be  gone  ?"  he  asked,  as  they 
packed  their  saddle-bags. 

Evans  hesitated,  and  McGreggor  saw  that  he 
was  dying  to  tell  him  something. 

241 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Go  on,"  he  teased.  "A  week?  A  month? 
Can't  you  give  a  fellow  some  idea?" 

Harold  leaned  close  to  his  friend  and  whis 
pered:  "It  may  be  all  over  by  this  time  to-mor 
row  night." 

"You  mean — we  may  have  your  father  with  us 
— to-morrow  night?" 

Evans's  face  brightened  into  a  radiant  smile. 
"Yes,  old  boy,  that 's  what  I  mean.  Now  don't 
ask  any  more  questions,  please  don't." 

It  was  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  when  the 
young  horsemen  shook  hands  with  Basil  and  the 
little  cavalcade  clattered  down  David  Street  with 
a  great  jangling  of  bells  from  a  pack-mule  that 
carried  extra  clothing  and  the  moving-picture 
apparatus. 

As  they  passed  Gethsemane,  outside  the  gates, 
they  caught  sight  of  Father  Nicodemus  standing 
under  a  venerable  olive  tree  with  a  great  Angora 
cat  (it  was  Methuselah)  on  his  shoulder.  The 
monk  was  waving  them  god-speed  with  his  wide- 
brimmed  hat. 

So  they  proceeded,  Gabriel  riding  first,  then 
the  boys,  then  Deeny,  leading  an  extra  saddle- 
horse,  and  last,  the  muleteer  and,  presently,  they 
came  upon  a  line  of  beggars  the  saddest  in  the 
world,  blind,  crippled,  and  lepers,  who  straight- 

242 


Street  in  Jerusalem. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

way  began  to  beat  their  tin  pails  and  flaunt  their 
misery. 

"Hawadja!  Hawadja!"  ("Master!  Master!") 
they  cried,  in  long-drawn,  w^ailing  chorus. 

"Ugh !"  shivered  Jack.  "Let 's  give  'em  a  few 
coppers  and  get  along." 

Llarold  nodded. 

"B-r-r-h-h,"  he  said  to  his  horse,  with  a  kick 
backward  against  the  hind  leg;  and  immediately 
the  gait  quickened. 

"Is  that  the  way  you  do  it?  'B-r-r-h-h/  "  imi 
tated  McGreggor,  and  his  horse  started  forward 
on  a  canter.  "Whoa,  there!  Not  so  fast! 
How  do  you  tell  'em  to  whoa,  Sandy,  in  Turkish?" 

"Hcesh,  hcesli!"  called  Evans,  and  the  horses 
slowed  down  again. 

Presently,  they  came  to  a  hilltop  (pointed  out 
to  tourists  as  the  hill  where  Judas  hanged  him 
self),  and  looked  down  upon  a  stretch  of  ancient 
graveyards  over  which  great  vultures  were  soar 
ing. 

"Talk  about  flying-machines !"  exclaimed  Jack. 
"See  how  those  enormous  birds  sail  along  without 
moving  a  feather.  Why,  they  're  as  tame  as 
chickens." 

"That 's  because  no  one  ever  shoots  'em,"  said 
Harold.  "The  Turks  have  a  superstition  that 

244 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  JUDAH 

the  souls  of  bad  Moslems  go  into  vultures  and,  if 
the  vulture  lives  a  hundred  years,  then  the  Mos 
lem  gets  another  chance  at  paradise,  but,  if  the 
vulture  dies,  then  the  Moslem  is  lost  forever." 

"Who  told  you  that,  Sandy?" 

"My  father.  You  '11  like  him,  Jack.  He 
knows  so  much.  I  remember  an  inscription  he 
showed  me  once  in  a  Turkish  graveyard  at 
Adana.  It  said,  'Oh,  traveler,  I  ask  of  tJiee  a 
prayer.  It  is  I  who  need  one  to-day,  it  is  thou 
who  will  need  one  to-morrow.'  Pretty  idea, 
is  n't  it?" 

"Mighty  pretty,"  agreed  Jack  thoughtfully  and 
then  for  a  long  distance  they  rode  on  in  silence 
through  a  dead  and  dreary  solitude.  No  trees, 
no  fields  of  grain,  no  vineyards,  no  vegetation 
of  any  sort.  Only  rolling  rock-hills  and  rolling 
rock-valleys  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see — bare 
rocks  and  sand,  blotched  with  harsh  colors,  like 
slag  out  of  a  furnace.  They  were  passing 
through  the  mountains  of  Judah. 

On  before  them,  through  this  desolation,  ran 
the  road's  white  trail,  making  queer  long  loops 
and  corkscrew  turnings — a  child  could  not  trace  a 
crazier  line  with  chalk  on  yellow  paper.  And 
along  this  road  came  other  wayfarers,  dust-cov 
ered  pilgrims,  or  brisk  donkey  trains,  or  now  and 

245 


THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  JUDAH 

then  a  stately  camel,  one  of  the  desert  runners, 
with  a  white-shrouded  Bedouin  rider,  his  bare, 


A  stately  camel  with  a  Bedouin  rider. 

brown  legs  dangling  over  a  gaily  tasseled  saddle 
blanket. 

Three  hours  of  journeying  through  this  wilder 
ness  brought  the  boys  to  a  point  of  high  ground 
that  stood  like  a  watch-tower  above  the  surround  - 

247 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

ing  hills.  Far  behind  them,  clearly  outlined 
against  the  setting  sun,  rose  the  Mount  of  Olives 
with  its  obelisk  tower.  And,  as  they  turned  to 
the  east,  where  the  long  shadows  extended,  they 
saw  that  the  hills  fell  away  sharply  before  them, 
flattening  down  into  rolling  mounds  with  a  level 
of  dazzling  white  beyond,  the  white  of  snow  or  a 
glacier,  and  through  this  ran  a  dark  blue  line  like 
a  river — it  was  a  river,  it  was  the  Jordan  rushing 
on  through  its  last  chalk  beds  to  the  Dead  Sea. 

The  Dead  Sea!  Not  yet  visible,  but  hidden 
away  there  at  the  right,  down  in  the  gulf  between 
these  yellow  mountains  and  the  blue  ones  in  the 
distance,  deep  down  in  the  gulf  between  the 
mountains  of  Judali  and  the  mountains  of  Moab. 

Harold  and  Jack  sat  motionless  on  their  horses, 
drinking  in  the  strange,  wild  beauty  of  the  scene. 
From  the  low-hanging  sun  came  a  light  softened 
by  the  mists  of  evening.  A  pinkish  haze  seemed 
to  settle  over  the  hills,  and  in  broad  bands  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow,  red,  and  orange,  and  purple, 
spread  above  them. 

Jack  thought  of  various  things  he  would  like  to 
say,  but  they  seemed  "like  things  out  of  a  book," 
and  he  felt  somehow  ashamed  to  say  them.  So 
he  finally  blurted  out : 

"Some  picture,  old  boy !" 
248 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BEDOUIN    TENTS 

HALF  an  hour's  ride  clown  the  mountains — 
the  way  was  so  steep  that  the  boys  were 
over  their  horses'  necks  about  half  the  time- 
brought  the  young  rescuers  into  a  region  of  in 
creasing  vegetation,  and  Gabriel  pointed  out 
various  shrubs  and  trees  growing  along  the  beds 
of  dry  watercourses.  Here  were  wild  olives  and 
acacias,  this  was  the  mustard-tree,  this  the  fa 
mous  balm  of  Gilead,  and  that  thorny  bush  bore 
the  Spinre  Christi,  strong,  sharp  thorns  that 
would  tear  like  a  knife  point.  Growing  among 
these  thorns  was  a  queer,  yellow  fruit  about  the 
size  of  a  cherry,  and  withered  like  an  old  crab- 
apple.  The  guide  gathered  a  handful  of  these, 
and  the  boys  found  in  them,  to  their  surprise,  a 
fragrance  and  delicate  flavor  like  a  strawberry. 
Harold  suggested  that  if  things  grew  like  this 
near  a  dry  watercourse,  the  whole  plain  could 
probably  be  made  fertile  by  irrigation  from  the 
Jordan  and  changed  into  a  real  tropical  garden. 

249 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Gabriel  admitted  that  it  could  be  done,  the 
Romans  had  done  it  centuries  before,  but  what 
was  the  use,  he  said.  If  the  Jericho  people  began 
irrigating  the  Jordan  valley  and  raising  fruits 
and  grain  it  would  simply  mean  that  the  Bedouins 
would  come  and  steal  everything  besides  killing 
the  owners.  There  was  no  sense  in  working  for 
the  Bedouins.  It  was  better  to  be  poor.  "Which 
was  a  new  point  of  view  to  the  boys  and  gave 
them  an  idea  of  conditions  prevailing  in  this  be 
nighted  region. 

Presently  Jack  asked  about  this  man,  Khalil, 
that  they  were  going  to  meet. 

"He  's  a  Bedouin,  is  n't  he?" 

"Khalil?  Yes,  he  's  a  Bedouin;  he  's  the  chief 
of  a  tribe,"  answered  Harold. 

"A  robber  tribe?" 

"\Yell — yes,  but  they  will  treat  us  kindly. 
They  will  probably  kill  a  sheep  in  our  honor." 

"Kill  a  sheep?  And — we  will  eat  the  sheep — 
with  the  robbers?"  Jack  tingled  with  excite 
ment. 

Gabriel  smiled,  and  smacked  his  lips  eloquently. 

"That  is  why  they  kill  it,  sair.  There  is  noth 
ing  better  than — what  you  call  it — mutton?" 

"That 's  right — mutton,"  nodded   Harold. 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  deleecious 
250 


BEDOUIN  TENTS 

than  mutton  as  they  serve  it  in  the  black  tents  oi 
the  Bedouins.  You  will  see." 

"This  is  the  hest  news  I  Ve  heard  in  some 
time,"  beamed  McGreggor.  "Me  for  the  robbers 
and  the  deleecious  mutton.  Eh,  Sandy?" 

Suddenly  the  shadows  deepened  as  the  sun 
sank  behind  the  hills.  The  purple  haze  and  the 
rainbow  tints  were  gone.  The  mountains  of 
Moab  across  the  plain  looked  dark  and  cruel,  es 
pecially  the  rugged  mass  of  Mount  Nebo,  where 
Moses  lies. 

"What's  that?"  Harold  started,  as  a  deep, 
musical  whistle  sounded  from  a  thicket  before 
them — "PIoo  lioooooo  lioooooo,"  and  then  again, 
"IIoo  lioooooo  Iwooooo." 

"A  turtle,  sair,"  answered  the  guide,  meaning 
a  turtle-dove,  and  the  boys  knew  how  "the  voice 
of  the  turtle"  sounds  in  the  land. 

Jack  shifted  on  his  saddle  and  glanced  about 
him  uneasily. 

"Say,  are  there — are  there  any  animals  about 
here?" 

"Yes,  sair.  There  are  jackals  on  the  plain,  and 
leopards  in  the  mountains  and  wild  boar  along 
the  river.  Not  many,  but  some.  And  there  are 
snakes,  too,  bad  snakes.  They  bite  the  natives 
mostly ;  bite  their  bare  feet.  See,  like  those 

251 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

women — they  come  from  Jericho."  Gabriel 
pointed  to  a  group  of  veiled  figures  moving  along 
silently  with  baskets  on  their  heads.  As  one  of 
these  women  threw  back  her  veil,  she  showed  a 
coarse  face  with  queer  blue  marks  tattooed 
around  the  mouth. 

"Where  are  they  going  with  those  baskets?" 
asked  Harold. 

Gabriel  spoke  to  the  muleteer  in  Arabic. 

"This  man  says  they  are  going  to  the  Dead 
Sea,  sair,  to  steal  salt." 

"To  steal  salt?" 

"Yes,  sair.  The  government  takes  all  the  salt, 
like  all  the  tobacco,  but  the  peasants  come  and 
scrape  it  off  the  ground  and  carry  it  away. 
Sometimes  the  soldiers  fight  them.'' 

"Is  there  salt  on  the  ground?"  marveled  Mc- 
Greggor. 

"Yes,  sair,  much  salt.  You  will  see.  Ah!  be 
hold  Khalil!" 

With  a  dramatic  gesture,  Gabriel  extended  his 
arm  toward  the  motionless  figure  of  a  horseman 
that  suddenly  came  into  view  at  a  turn  of  the 
road.  The  horse  was  pure  white,  the  rider's 
head  was  swathed  in  white,  and  over  his  shoulders 
hung  a  black  mantle.  Tt  was  the  Bedouin  chief, 


waiting. 


252 


BEDOUIN  TENTS 

Khalil  sainted  with  dignity  as  the  riders  drew 
up,  and  immediately  there  ensued  a  low-voiced 
colloquy,  of  which  Jack  understood  absolutely 


It  was  the  Bedouin  chief,  \\aiting. 

nothing.  It  was  plain,  however,  that  Harold 
and  the  Bedouins  were  coming  to  some  agree 
ment,  and,  presently,  Harold  drew  forth  his 
purse  and  gave  Khalil  a  handful  of  liras. 
Whereupon  the  Arab,  after  pointing  over  the 

253 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

hills,  saluted  again  most  respectfully,  and  gal 
loped  off,  leading  the  extra  saddle-horse. 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  when  this  mysterious  trans 
action  was  accomplished,  "I  hope  you  know  what 
you  're  doing,  Sandy.  I  'm  sure  I  don't." 

Harold  thought  a  moment,  then,  laying  his 
hand  affectionately  on  McGreggor's  shoulder,  he 
said :  "Don't  be  sore,  Jack.  I  've  kept  my  mouth 
shut  because  Basil  told  me  to,  but  it  can't  make 
any  difference  now.  Listen !  You  've  just  seen 
this  Bedouin  start  off  with  the  extra  saddle-horse. 
You  can  guess  where  he  's  going?" 

"Mar  Saba?" 

"Right.  It 's  only  an  hour  from  here.  He  '11 
be  back  in  a  few  hours,  and — "  Evans  choked  a 
little.  "I  hope  he  won't  come  back  alone,  Jack." 

McGreggor  reached  forward  impulsively  and 
gripped  his  friend's  hand.  "I  do  hope  that  he 
brings  your  father,  Sandy." 

"Thanks,  old  boy.  It  looks  like  an  easy  thing," 
continued  Harold,  trying  to  hide  his  feelings. 
"Those  Mar  Saba  people  trust  Khalil,  so  they  '11 
let  him  see  my  father,  and — he  has  eighty  yards 
of  silk  rope  wound  around  his  waist.  It 's  the 
strongest  that 's  made  but  not  bulky,  and — that 
money  was  Basil's,  he  paid  it — thirty  liras. 

254 


BEDOUIN  TENTS 

Khalil  is  to  have  thirty  more  if  he  brings  Father 
here  safely." 

"Is  the  idea  to  have  your  father  slide  down 
that  rope — eighty  yards?"  whispered  Jack. 

"That 's  it.  Careful  now !"  Harold  pointed 
to  several  Bedouins  who  came  galloping  up  with  a 
grand  flourish,  but  with  every  mark  of  respect. 
"These  are  Khalil's  men.  They  are  going  to  en 
tertain  us  until  he  comes  back." 

It  is  certain  that  the  boys  were  well  entertained 
on  this  occasion  in  the  black  Bedouin  tents  that 
spread  over  a  neighboring  hillside.  Jack  always 
treasured  the  memory  of  this  night's  experience, 
and  of  the  banquet  which  was  prepared  for  the 
young  Americans.  Indeed,  it  was  a  really  won 
derful  meal,  consisting  of  soup,  roast  sheep,  a 
mound  of  vegetables,  and  a  thick  layer  of  rice 
cakes,  all  heaped  together  in  a  bowl  about  a  yard 
in  diameter,  and  served  without  spoons,  forks, 
or  knives. 

After  this  savory  but  conglomerate  repast  had 
been  devoured  by  the  hand  to  mouth  method,  the 
satisfied  company  gathered,  cross-legged,  around 
a  pleasant  tent-fire,  and  enjoyed  two  hours  of 
Oriental  story-telling.  And  here  Nasr-ed-Din 
proved  himself  a  star  performer,  his  contribu- 

255 


BEDOUIN  TENTS 

tions  calling  forth  enthusiastic  approval  from  the 
ring  of  bronzed  faces. 

One  of  the  stories  that  Deeny  told  was  about 
an  ancestor  of  his  own  who  bore  the  same  name 
and  whose  fame  as  a  kind  of  queer  philosopher 
had  spread  far  and  wide.  This  other  Nasr-ed- 
Din,  it  seems,  climbed  into  his  neighbor's  garden 
one  night  to  steal  watermelons  and  he  had  just 
put  twenty  luscious  melons  into  his  bag  when 
the  neighbor  caught  him,  though,  to  be  sure,  he 
made  no  attempt  to  escape. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  in  my  garden?" 
cried  the  angry  owner. 

With  perfect  dignity  Nasr-ed-Din  replied : 
"The  fact  is,  my  good  sir,  I  wras  blown  over  the 
wall  by  a  terrific  gale." 

"I  see,  but  why  did  you  pick  these  water 
melons  ?" 

"Why — er — as  the  wind  blew  me  along  I 
clutched  at  the  vines  to  stop  myself." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  neighbor,  "but  how  did 
the  melons  get  inside  your  bag?" 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  Nasr-ed-Din,  "that 's  a  very 
good  question.  I  was  just  wondering  about  that 
myself  when  you  arrived." 

The  Bedouins  applauded  this  story  so  heartily 
that  Deeny  was  just  preparing  to  relate  another 

257 


when  there  sounded  outside  a  clatter  of  hoof  beats 
coming  rapidly  up  the  hill. 

Deeny  listened  attentively  and  lifted  two 
fingers. 

"Two  horses!"  exulted  Harold,  springing  to 
his  feet,  his  eyes  shining,  his  whole  body 
trembling  with  excitement,  as  he  hurried  toward 
the  door  of  the  tent. 

By  a  common  impulse  the  others  followed,  and, 
a  moment  later,  they  all  were  crowding  out  into 
the  darkness,  eager  to  learn  the  result  of  their 
leader's  mysterious  mission. 


258 


CHAPTER  XX 

MAR    SABA    AT    NIGHT 

HAROLD'S  heart  sank  as  he  stepped  out  into 
the  night,  for  a  single  glance  showed  him 
a  white  rider  galloping  up  the  hill  with  an 
empty-saddled  horse  behind  him.  Dr.  Wicklow 
Evans  was  not  there.  The  rescue  plan  had 
failed. 

"What  happened?  What  went  wrong? 
Quick !"  Harold  demanded,  as  the  Bedouin  sprang 
to  the  earth. 

With  an  impatient  gesture,  Khalil  ordered  his 
followers  hack  inside  the  tent.  Then  he  ex 
plained  the  unfortunate  turn  of  affairs.  It  was 
very  simple.  In  spite  of  their  secrecy,  some  sus 
picion  had  reached  Mar  Saba  that  a  plan  was  on 
foot  to  rescue  Dr.  Evans,  and  when  the  Arab 
appeared  at  the  gates,  he  was  not  only  refused 
his  usual  privilege  of  seeing  the  prisoner,  but 
he  was  not  even  allowed  to  set  foot  inside  the 
convent  walls.  In  vain  he  had  argued  and 
pleaded.  The  head  of  the  convent  had  given 

259 


'What  happened?     What  went  wrong?"  demanded  Harold. 


MAR  SABA  AT  NIGHT 

positive  orders  that  Khalil  was  not  to  be  received 
on  any  pretext  whatever,  and  the  Bedouin,  angry 
and  discomfited,  had  finally  ridden  awray.  It  was 
fate.  There  was  nothing  more  to  say. 

"There  's  a  good  deal  more  to  say,"  replied 
Harold,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Sandy?"  asked 
Jack. 

"Do?"  cried  Evans,  and  his  face  bore  the  look 
the  St.  Paul  boys  had  seen  in  a  famous  foot-ball 
game,  when,  in  spite  of  his  slender  figure,  Sandy 
went  through  the  Andover  line  for  eighty  yards 
and  scored  a  touch-down.  "Do  ?  I  'm  going  to 
get  my  father  out  of  Mar  Saba." 

Then,  turning  to  Khalil,  with  the  air  of  a 
young  commander,  he  called  for  the  horses. 

The  Bedouin  stared  in  amazement.  The 
horses?  Were  the  gentlemen  tired  of  his  hos 
pitality  ?  No,  but  the  gentlemen  had  urgent  busi 
ness  to  transact.  They  were  leaving  at  once. 
But  it  was  long  after  midnight.  It  was  not  safe 
for  the  gentlemen  to  be  abroad  at  this  hour. 
Safe  or  not,  they  were  going,  Harold  replied,  and, 
what  was  more,  Khalil  was  going  with  them. 
No,  said  Khalil,  he  was  not  going  with  them ;  he 
was  certainly  not  going  with  them. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  little  cavalcade  set 
261 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

forth  once  more,  turning  their  faces  toward  the 
rugged  heights  of  Mar  Saba.  And  on  the  fore 
most  horse  (such  is  the  power  of  an  unswerving 
purpose)  rode  the  Bedouin.  It  was  a  foolish  and 
useless  effort,  he  grumbled,  but,  since  the  gentle 
men  insisted,  he  would  do  his  best.  It  may  be 
added  that  Khalil  had  received  five  extra  liras  for 
his  trouble. 

Soon  after  the  start,  Harold  pushed  forward 
and  rode  beside  the  Arab,  and  for  several  miles 
the  two  remained  in  earnest  conversation,  hold 
ing  their  horses  to  a  quick  walk.  As  the  road 
grew  steeper,  they  dismounted  to  adjust  their 
saddles,  and  Evans  showed  Jack  how  to  fasten 
his  saddlegirth  in  front  around  the  horse's  chest, 
native  fashion,  so  as  to  keep  it  from  slipping 
back. 

"Say,  Sandy/'  ventured  McGreggor,  as  they 
started  on  again,  "have  you  any  idea  what  we  're 
going  to  do  when  we  get  to  Mar  Saba  ?  Honest, 
now,  have  you?" 

Harold's  face  brightened  as  he  answered  his 
friend. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  Jack,  I  liad  no  idea  when 

we  started  except  that  we  must  do  something,  but 

—it 's  wonderful,  old  boy,  the  way  things  happen. 

262 


MAR  SABA  AT  NIGHT 

I    guess    we  're   being    steered   better    than    we 
know." 

"All  right,  and  then  what?"  said  McGreggor, 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone. 

"The  point  is,  I  've  been  talking  to  Khalil,  ask 
ing  him  questions,  and  he  's  given  me  an  idea. 
We  Ve  got  to  get  that  rope  up  to  Father,  and— 
I  know  how  to  do  it." 

"Fine!" 

"That  is,  I  think  I  do.  Just  give  me  a  few 
minutes  to  work  out  my  plan.  We  '11  be  there  in 
half  an  hour." 

"All  right!  Keep  your  thought  machine 
working  full  time,"  said  Jack.  "I  guess  we  '11 
need  it." 

The  moon,  swinging  high  in  a  cloudless  heaven, 
had  wrapped  the  rude  mountain  gorges  in  silver 
splendor.  For  another  mile,  the  boys  rode  on  in 
silence,  and  now  all  kept  their  horses  in  single 
file  as  the  path  grew  steeper  and  narrower.  Pres 
ently  they  entered  a  great  canon  where  every 
horseman  needed  his  wits  about  him  as  they 
skirted  giddy  chasms  black  with  shadows  in  their 
depths.  Then,  suddenly,  there  lifted  before  them 
a  vague  mass  of  tower  and  archway,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  the  fortress-monastery  came  into  view, 

263 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

clinging  to  the  face  of  the  opposite  precipice  with 
the  moon  full  on  it. 

"So  that 's  the  little  job  we  're  up  against," 
muttered  Jack,  as  he  looked  across  the  gulf  and 
rested  his  eyes  on  this  rambling  habitation,  built 
like  a  swallow's  nest  against  a  wall,  with  a  great 
depth  below  and  a  great  height  above.  In  the 
moon's  transforming  light  it  looked  like  a  flat- 
tened-out  castle  with  turrets  and  galleries  and 
battlements. 

And  presently  a  strong  voice  sounded  through 
the  night  and  was  joined  by  other  voices  that  rose 
and  fell  in  suppliant  cry.  No  need  to  understand 
the  words ;  it  was  a  prayer  for  help  and  forgive 
ness  ;  it  was  the  monks  chanting. 

As  the  voices  ceased,  a  bell  struck  ten  with 
harsh,  quick  strokes,  telling  that  it  was  ten  o'clock 
by  the  Arabic  reckoning  of  time,  about  half-past 
four,  English  time — and  already  the  day  was 
breaking.  Yet  the  moon  still  held  her  own  and 
threw  enormous  shadows  of  the  horsemen  across 
the  gulf  upon  the  convent  walls. 

Harold  motioned  the  company  to  draw  back. 

"We  must  n't  be  seen !"  he  whispered. 

And  now,  stretched  on  their  backs,  with  a  sad 
dle  blanket  to  ease  the  hardness  of  the  rocks,  the 
boys  saw  two  things  that  they  always  remem- 

264 


MAR  SABA  AT  NIGHT 

bered — a  star  rising  up  like  a  lifted  torch,  and  a 
jackal.  The  jackal  was  walking  along  a  ledge  of 
rock,  so  plain  against  the  dawn  that  they  could 
see  each  foot  lift.  Then  the  morning  star  flashed 
suddenly  over  the  bald  mountain  crest,  like  a 
light-house  signal.  And  even  as  they  looked, 
there  was  clear  sky  between  the  star  and  the 
mountain,  one  inch,  two  inches,  then  a  foot. 
Most  extraordinary!  A  star  was  racing  up  the 
sky,  they  could  see  it  move ! 

By  this  time  the  convent  was  rousing  itself  for 
the  day.  More  bells  rang.  Monks  appeared  on 
the  terraces,  and  moved  along  the  .narrow  bal 
conies.  Jack  discovered  one  monk  standing  on  a 
high  tower  and  looking  down  into  the  canon. 
Others  mounted  crooked  stone  stairways  that  led 
from  terrace  to  terrace.  Two  came  out  with 
bread,  and  fed  it  to  some  yellow-breasted  grack- 
les,  evidently  pets,  that  fluttered  in  and  plucked 
the  crumbs  from  their  hands.  Harold  rose  and 
beckoned  to  Khalil,  who  nodded,  and  led  the  way 
down  a  precipitous  path. 

"Come  on,  Jack.  I  '11  show  you  what  we  're 
going  to  do.  We  will  send  Gabriel  to  take  the 
horses  around  by  a  long  way,  and — Careful  with 
the  horses !  Careful  there !  We  've  got  to  get 
down  to  the  bottom  of  this  place." 

265 


Presently,  at  a  lower  level,  they  crossed  a 
natural  bridge,  trellised  over  with  grape-vines, 
and  then  it  was  seen  that  the  Mar  Saba  convent 
did  not  face  the  main  canon,  but  hung  over  a 
tributary  gulf,  and  the  boys  now  found  them 
selves  looking  across  at  a  second  rock  wall  rising 
full  five  hundred  feet  in  sheer  perpendicular 
above  a  mountain  torrent  that  tumbled  along  in 
the  depth  beneath  them.  The  face  of  this  second 
wall  was  marked  with  various  irregular  open 
ings,  rising  in  tiers  one  above  the  other,  some 
of  them  connected  by  ladders  and  wooden  gal 
leries. 

Khalil  paused  impressively,  and  pointed  to  one 
of  these  openings,  saying  something  in  Arabic, 
while  Harold  listened  eagerly. 

"Jack,"  said  the  boy,  with  suppressed  excite 
ment.  "You  see  those  openings  way  up  there  in 
the  precipice  ?  He  says  they  are  caves  cut  in  the 
rock — there  are  dozens  of  'em,  and — you  see  that 
large  one,  the  second  on  the  right — that 's  where 
my  father  is." 

Still  the  descent  continued  with  increasing 
perils.  The  boys  passed  along  narrow  ledges 
where  a  single  false  step  would  have  plunged 
them  into  the  gulf.  Once  McGreggor  shut  his 
eyes  as  a  treacherous  stone  slipped  from  under 

266 


MAR  SABA  AT  NIGHT 

him,  but  Deeny  sprang  forward  just  in  time  and 
caught  his  arm. 

Thus,  finally,  without  other  harm  than  some 
bruises,  and  a  general  weariness,  they  reached  the 
torrent's  bed. 

"Whe-ew !"  panted  Jack.  "I  'm  done  up !" 
He  threw  himself  down  by  a  line  of  willows  that 
fringed  the  stream,  and,  kicking  his  feet  among 
the  red  flowers  of  a  pomegranate  bush,  he  closed 
his  eyes  wearily.  "I  '11  never  get  back  up  that 
mountain !"  he  sighed. 

Meantime,  young  Evans  and  the  Bedouin  were 
busying  themselves  with  mysterious  prepara 
tions.  Khalil  quickly  unwound  the  knotted 
silken  rope  that  had  been  concealed  around  his 
waist,  then,  with  Harold's  help,  he  tested  every 
length  of  it  over  a  strong  willow  branch.  At 
each  end  of  the  rope  he  made  a  noose. 

McGreggor  watched  all  this  in  sleepy  astonish 
ment.  What  were  they  trying  to  do?  Dr. 
Evans'  cave  was  two  hundred  feet  straight  up 
the  face  of  that  precipice  across  the  brook. 

"Is  one  of  those  nooses  to  go  under  your 
father's  arms  when  he  slides  down  the  rope?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  other  noose  is  to  hitch  around  some 
thing  up  there  in  the  cave  and  hold  the  rope?" 

267 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

'That's  it." 

Jack  lay  back  and  yawned  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  swallow  the  mountain. 

"It 's  a  good-enough  scheme,  Sandy,  but — how 
the  miscJiief  are  you  going  to  get  that  rope  up  to 
your  father?" 


268 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  TIN    BUCKET 

go  to  sleep,"  said  Sandy.     "I  guess 
you  're   tired." 

Jack  sat  up  stiffly  and  looked  at  his  friend  with 
reproachful  eyes. 

"Tired  ?"  he  snorted.  "Why  should  n't  I  be 
tired?  What  do  you  think  I  am?  A  fireless 
cooker  ?  Eight  hours  on  a  jouncey  horse,  no  sleep 
all  night,  and  a  precipice  that  breaks  your  heart 
for  breakfast.  Tired?  Well,  say!"  He  lay 
back  and  closed  his  eyes  as  if  words  utterly  failed 
to  express  his  feelings. 

For  about  twenty  minutes  after  this,  nothing 
happened.  Deeny  sat  cross-legged  on  the  bank 
and  crooned  a  doleful  lullaby  as  he,  too,  tested 
the  rope  that  was  to  save  his  master.  Khali! 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  blew  philosophical  rings 
toward  the  rising  sun.  Harold  leaned  against  a 
willow  and  never  took  his  eyes  from  that  lofty 
cave  opening,  the  second  on  the  right,  where  his 
father  was.  His  father! 

269 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Presently  a  quick  whispering  brought  McGreg- 
gor  back  to  consciousness,  and,  looking  up 
drowsily,  he  saw  a  tin  bucket  descending  out  of 
the  heavens,  not  falling,  but  coming  down  delib 
erately  and  on  a  slant,  as  if  it  understood  its 
mission.  Nearer  and  nearer  to  the  torrent  came 
this  well  trained  bucket,  then,  choosing  a  deep 
place  with  excellent  judgment,  it  dipped  itself 
therein,  after  which,  full  to  the  brim,  it  began  to 
ascend  again  with  long  swingings,  going  closer 
and  closer  to  the  precipice  across  the  stream,  but 
never  quite  striking  it. 

As  Jack  followed  the  movements  of  this  bucket 
in  its  slanting  upward  course,  he  discovered  that 
it  was  not  moving  miraculously,  but  was  sliding 
on  a  trolley-wire  which  stretched  down  to  the 
mountain  stream  from  a  flimsy  balcony  in  front  of 
one  of  the  caves.  And  on  this  balcony,  far  up  the 
wall,  he  made  out  a  tiny  figure  of  a  man  turning 
a  wheel  that  drew  in  or  let  out  a  pulley  cord 
which  operated  the  bucket  on  its  wire.  A  mo 
ment  later,  this  figure  was  seen  to  receive  and 
empty  the  bucket,  then  start  it  back  on  its  down 
ward  journey. 

"Jack !"  called  Evans,  excitedly.  "Help  Khalil 
with  the  rope  while  I  wave.  That 's  Father !" 

There  was  no  time  for  more  words  nor  for  any 
270 


THE  TIN  BUCKET 

show  of  feeling".  The  critical  moment  had  come. 
They  must  act. 

As  the  bucket  reached  the  stream  again,  Khalil 
waded  in  and  seized  it,  and,  with  a  piece  of  twine, 
made  fast  the  rope.  Harold,  meantime,  was 
waving  his  hands  and  fluttering  a  handkerchief. 

"He  's  hound  to  look  down  when  he  feels  the 
weight  of  the  rope !"  said  the  hoy.  "Then  he  '11 
see  me  waving." 

"He  won't  know  who  it  is,"  objected  Jack. 
"It 's  too  far  to  see." 

"He  will  know,"  declared  Harold  confi 
dently.  "Ah,  I  told  you !  Look !  He  's  waving 
back.  Now  then!  All  ready!  Let  her  go!" 

As  the  pulley  line  tightened  and  began  to  lift, 
Khalil  fed  out  the  rope  which  was  presently  dan 
gling  down  from  the  bucket  like  a  long  snake. 

In  breathless  suspense  they  watched  the  rope 
rise  higher  and  higher.  The  figure  on  the  bal 
cony  stood  ready  and  was  actually  leaning  out 
to  grasp  the  precious  means  of  escape,  when  sud 
denly  another  figure,  in  a  blue  garment,  darted 
forward  on  a  balcony  about  twenty  feet  beneath. 

"Hurry!  Hurry!"  shouted  Harold,  realizing 
the  danger. 

Rut  it  was  too  late.  The  blue-clad  figure 
reached  forth  an  implement  that  looked  like  a 

271 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

rake  or  a  hoe,  and,  drawing"  in  the  bucket  as  it 
passed,  seized  it,  despite  frantic  efforts  of  the 
figure  above. 

"Oh !"  cried  Harold,  in  dismay.  "He  's  going" 
to  cut  the  rope !" 

At  the  same  moment,  something  flashed  in  the 
sunlight  on  the  lower  balcony,  and,  a  moment 
later,  the  whole  length  of  silken  cord  came  wrig 
gling  down  through  the  air  and  fell  among  the 
jagged  rocks  on  the  opposite  bank. 

"It 's  hard  luck,  old  boy !"  said  McGreggor, 
comfortingly,  as  he  saw  his  friend's  distress. 
"Anyhow,  we  know  your  father 's  up  there ; 
that 's  something.  There  must  be  some  way  of 
saving  him.  We  '11  think  of  something,  and— 
that 's  good,  we  've  got  the  rope,  anyway."  He 
said  this  as  Khalil  came  wading  back  with  the 
rescued  line. 

Just  then  a  faint  cry  sounded  from  above,  and 
they  caught  the  words:  "Harold!  My  son! 
Wait!" 

Harold  waved  back  that  he  understood,  and 
immediately  Dr.  Evans  disappeared  inside  the 
cave.  Then  for  ten  minutes — it  seemed  much 
longer — the  boys  sat  anxiously  on  the  bank,  won- 
derir'  v/-nt  vvould  happen  next. 

272 


THE  TIN  BUCKET 

"Your  father  seems  to  be  all  right,"  sympa 
thized  Jack;  "that 's  a  great  thing/' 

"Yes,"  agreed  Evans,  "but — oh,  well !  You  're 
a  mighty  good  friend,  Jack,  that 's  sure." 

At  this  moment,  the  missionary  appeared 
again,  and  was  seen  to  hold  out  some  white  object 
and  move  it  back  and  forth  as  if  to  attract  atten 
tion.  Harold  signaled  back  that  he  was  looking, 
whereupon  the  father,  with  a  quick  movement, 
cast  the  white  object  far  out  over  the  canon.  He 
had  judged  his  distance  so  nicely  that  it  just 
cleared  the  torrent  and  descended  into  a  cluster 
of  fig-trees  not  a  hundred  yards  from  where  the 
boys  were  standing. 

Harold  hurried  after  the  prize,  and  presently 
returned,  unknotting  a  handkerchief  in  which 
was  tied  a  stone  and  a  sheet  of  paper  bearing 
hastily  penciled  words. 

"Say,  Sandy,  it  strikes  me  you  get  letters  from 
your  people  in  queer  ways,"  grinned  McGreggor. 
"This  is  the  second  one." 

"I  hope  it  gives  us  as  good  a  line  on  what  to  do 
as  the  one  we  got  from  Mother,"  answered  Evans. 
"Tt  is  n't  very  long,  and—  As  he  looked  over 
the  sheet,  the  boy's  face  darkened,  and  he  shook 
his  head.  "I  don't  see  how  we  can  do  this." 

273 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Do  what?  Read  it,  Sandy.  Read  it,"  urged 
Jack. 

Then  Harold  read  the  letter: 

My  Dear  Son: 

My  prayers  have  been  answered  and  you  have 
been  brought  to  me.  The  idea  of  the  rope  might 
have  succeeded,  but  it  is  too  late  now.  I  shall  be 
more  closely  guarded  in  the  future,  and  you  must  not 
try  again  to  rescue  me.  Above  all,  you  must  not  go 
to  the  authorities.  That  would  do  me  great  harm ;  it 
might  destroy  our  chances  of  ever  meeting  again.  You 
must  go  to  Damascus  and  seek  out  Abdul  Pasha,  leader 
of  the  young  Turk  party.  Tell  him  the  whole  truth. 
Show  him  the  ring  which  I  inclose — it  is  one  he  gave  to 
me.  He  will  do  the  rest.  God  bless  you,  my  boy.  A 
heart  full  of  love  to  you  and  your  mother,  who  is  some 
where  near,  I  know. 

Your  father, 

WICKLOW  EVANS. 

P.S.  They  are  kind  to  me  here,  and  will  be  glad  to 
have  orders  to  release  me ;  but  the  orders  must  come 
from  very  high  up.  See  Abdul  Pasha  and  shozu  him 
the  ring. 

"But — I  don't  see  any  ring!"  said  Harold,  in 
perplexity.  "There  is  n't  any  ring." 

"Wait !  You  may  have  dropped  it.  What 's 
this  ?"  Jack  darted  down  the  bank  and  picked  up 
a  piece  of  paper  twisted  together  like  a  child's 

274 


THE  TIN  BUCKET 

torpedo.  "Here  it  is!  Here  it  is!1'  he  exulted, 
and  banded  to  his  friend  a  gold  ring"  with  a  large 
brown  seal  on  which  various  strange  characters 
were  cut. 

Harold  frowned  as  he  took  the  ring.  "I  'in  not 
going  to  Damascus.  I  'm  not  going  to  leave  my 
father  here — not  if  I  can  help  it." 

"But  if  you  can't  help  it,  then  you  '11  have  to," 
said  Jack,  philosophically,  "just  as  we  had  to 
leave  your  mother  there  at  the  pyramid.  Eh, 
Sandy?" 

A  little  later,  after  waiting  vainly  for  Dr. 
Evans  to  appear  again  on  his  balcony,  the  boys 
started  down  the  canon,  and,  after  proceeding 
about  half  a  mile,  they  joined  Gabriel,  who  was 
waiting  with  the  horses  at  the  place  agreed  upon. 
Deeny  was  terribly  disappointed  at  the  utter  fail 
ure  of  their  efforts. 

"Zaralli  Effendim !  Zaralli  Effcndim !"  ( "My 
poor  master!")  he  kept  saying  and  would  not  be 
comforted. 

It  was  a  sad  and  silent  company  that  started 
back  for  the  Bedouin  encampment.  The  more 
Harold  pondered  his  father's  admonitions,  the 
more  he  realized  that  they  were  sound  and  must 
be  followed.  It  was  evident  that  some  very 
powerful  person  was  back  of  this  conspiracy,  and 

275 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

their  only  chance  of  coping  with  him  was  to  have 
power  on  their  side  also.  Perhaps  it  was  better 
that  their  plan  with  the  rope  had  failed.  They 
might  have  been  pursued  and  captured.  In  these 
lawless  solitudes  anything  could  happen. 

And  yet  it  was  hard  for  Harold  to  go  away  and 
leave  his  father.  Damascus  was  a  long  way  off, 
and  who  could  say  \vhat  this  Abdul  Pasha  would 
do !  It  was  putting  a  lot  of  trust  in  a  ring.  Be 
sides,  Abdul  Pasha  might  be  away,  he  might  be 
ill,  he  might  be  afraid  to  help  them. 

As  these  somber  thoughts  passed  through 
Evans'  mind,  they  came  to  a  picturesque  rock- 
bridge  across  the  gorge.  A  solitary  rider  on  a 
camel  was  just  before  them;  Harold  could  hear 
him  grunting  to  the  beast,  "Khu,  khu,"  to  quicken 
his  pace.  And,  again,  he  followed  the  circles  of 
some  floating  vultures  as  they  circled  over  the 
gulf  with  wings  extended,  motionless.  Then, 
like  a  flash,  the  inspiration  came. 

"Jack !"  he  cried  excitedly.  "I  Ve  got  it ! 
I  Ve  got  it !" 

"Easy  now,  old  boy!"  cautioned  McGreggor. 
"If  you  're  thinking  of  hitching  the  rope  to  the 
leg  of  a  vulture  and  making  him  carry  it 
up-" 

"I  'm  not !"  said  Evans.  "Don't  be  silly.  But 
276 


THE  TIN  BUCKET 

I  've  got  an  idea  from  the  vultures — it  was  your 
idea/' 

"My  idea?" 

''Remember  that  deep  valley  near  Jerusalem? 
You  said  it  would  be  a  great  place  to  study  flying- 
machines.  Well,  there 's  a  flying-machine  we 
could  make.  It 's  a  very  simple  kind,  but  it 
would  lift  that  rope,  and,  if  the  wind  was  right, 
we  could  steer  it  over  the  balcony  where  Father 
is!" 

McGreggor  listened  incredulously.  "I  '11  bet 
you  four  dollars  and  sixty-nine  cents  you  can't 
make  a  flying-machine  that  will  do  that!" 

"I  said  we  could  do  it.  You  '11  help  me,  won't 
you?  We  can  make  a  big  kite,  can't  we ?  A  big 
box-kite?  I  remember  reading  about  a  kite  that 
lifted  a  man  twenty  or  thirty  feet." 

The  boys  faced  each  other  in  silence  as  the  idea 
took  form  in  their  minds.  "By  Jove!"  exclaimed 
Jack,  beginning  to  be  impressed. 

"Will  you  help  me  build  it?" 

"Sure  I  '11  help  you!"  answered  McGreggor. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  he  shook  his  head  slowly. 
"But  you  can't  steer  a  kite  up  to  that  cave,  Sandy. 
You  can't  do  it  in  a  million  vears." 


277 


RUNAWAY   KITES 

THE  next  week  saw  a  remarkable  change  in 
the  ordinary  activities  of  the  Bedouin 
camp.  These  rough  men  seemed  suddenly  to 
lose  all  interest  in  their  plunder  and  marauding; 
they  became  absolutely  absolved  in  the  doings  of 
two  American  boys  who  had  taken  to  making 
kites.  A  kite,  apparently,  was  something  that 
had  not  been  seen  in  the  Jordan  valley  within  the 
memory  of  the  oldest  robber. 

The  first  kite  was  a  failure,  to  Harold's  deep 
chagrin,  for  he  made  it  himself,  the  day  after 
their  return  from  Mar  Saba.  He  wanted  partic 
ularly  to  have  it  a  success,  so  that  Jack  would 
look  more  favorably  upon  his  rescue  idea.  But 
the  kite  behaved  badly;  it  darted  from  side  to 
side  in  a  most  discouraging  way,  and  then,  after 
diving  madly,  it  smashed  itself  to  pieces  on  the 
rocks. 

Jack  was  coldly  sympathetic.  "What  can  you 
expect?"  he  said.  "We  haven't  got  the  stuff  to 

278 


RUNAWAY  KITES 

make  kites  with,  we  have  n't  got  the  right  kind 
of  paper,  or  the  right  kind  of  sticks,  or— 

"We  've  got  bamboo.  It  grows  all  around 
here,"  interrupted  Harold.  "You  can't  beat  bam 
boo  for  kite  sticks." 

McGreggor  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  use  bam 
boo  in  my  kites." 

"Your  kites?  Do  you  know  how  to  make 
kites?" 

"Do  I?"  Jack's  smile  was  distinctly  patroniz 
ing.  "I  not  only  know  how  to  make  'em,  but 
after  I  've  made  'em,  they  go  up." 

"Huh !"  retorted  Evans.  "The  next  one  I 
make  will  go  up,  all  right.  I  '11  take  more  pains 
with  the  measurements.  Say,  what  kind  of  sticks 
do  you  use  in  your  kites  ?" 

"Ash  or  hickory,  if  I  can  get  'em.  Bamboo  is 
too  bulky,  and  you  can't  bend  it  right  for  the 
crosspiece." 

"Crosspiece?  What  do  you  want  a  crosspiece 
for?" 

"What  for  ?  Why,  the  crosspiece  is  the  whole 
thing.  I  'm  not  talking  about  a  box-kite."  He 
glanced  contemptuously  at  the  wreck  of  Harold's 
effort.  "I  'm  talking  about  a  scientific  kite,  a 
tailless  kite.  They  're  the  only  kind,  with  the 
crosspiece  bowed  forward  against  the  wind — 

279 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

you  bend  it  about  four  per  cent,  of  the 
length." 

"Say,  you  do  know  a  lot  about  kites!"  ad 
mitted  Harold.  "Just  the  same,  I  can  make  a 
string  of  box-kites  that  will  carry  that  rope.  Tell 
you  what,  you  make  one  your  way  and  I'll  make 
one  mine,  and  we  '11  see  which  flies  the  best. 
Will  you  doit,  Jack?" 

McGreggor  was  somewhat  mollified  by  his 
friend's  increasing  respect,  but  he  still  insisted 
that  they  lacked  the  proper  materials. 

"We  can  send  to  Jerusalem  for  anything  we 
want,"  urged  Harold;  "Gabriel  is  here  to  do 
what  we  tell  him;  those  are  Basil's  orders." 

Finally,  Jack  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded, 
and  three  days  later  (after  Gabriel  had  procured 
what  was  necessary),  he  sent  up  a  tailless,  dia 
mond-shaped  kite  that  rose  to  a  height  of  half 
a  mile,  and  floated  proudly  over  the  mountains  of 
Judah. 

"There!"  said  Jack.  "That 's  what  I  call  fly 
ing  a  kite!" 

The  Bedouins  watched  every  detail  of  this  op 
eration  with  the  eagerness  of  children,  and  were 
impressed  with  superstitious  awe  when  a  huge, 
silver-tipped  eagle  swooped  down  out  of  the  sky 
and  circled  around  and  around  the  kite,  as  if 

280 


A  huge,  silver-tipped  eagle  circled  around  the  kite. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

challenging    this    strange    newcomer    to    aerial 
combat. 

The  next  day,  McGreggor  sent  up  a  string  of 
tailless  kites,  three  of  them  hitched  tandem  to  a 
strong,  main  line.  This  gave  Harold  a  new  idea. 

"Say,  Jack,  what  if  we  hitched  all  our  kites 
to  one  line?" 

"You  mean  box-kites  and  tailless  kites?" 

"Yes.     Would  the  cord  hold?" 

McGreggor  nodded.  "It  would  hold,  all  right 
— it 's  tested  up  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds— 
but — we  'd  have  to  have  a  reel — with  a  leather 
brake.  You  never  could  hold  that  line  with  your 
hands.  I  Ve  got  six  four-footers  and  you  Ve  got 
— how  many  box-kites?" 

"Three,  but  they  're  big  ones." 

"Nine  kites  on  a  single  line.  By  Jove!  I 
should  say  you  could  n't  hold  'em !" 

Sandy  Evans  sat  silent  for  several  minutes, 
then  he  came  to  the  great  question  of  rescuing 
Dr.  Evans. 

"Jack,  that  line  of  kites  would  carry  up  the 
silk  rope  all  right,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Sure.  The  silk  rope  does  n't  weigh  over  ten 
pounds.  Those  nine  kites  would  carry  a  hundred 
and  twenty — easy." 

"Say,   you   did  n't  believe   much   in   my   idea 
282 


RUNAWAY  KITES 

when  I  first  sprung  it,  but — you  know  what  this 
means  to  me.  Maybe  you  think  I  ought  to  have 
done  what  Father  said,  and  gone  right  on  to  Da 
mascus  without  fooling  around  with  these  kites, 
but — "  Harold's  voice  broke  here,  although  he 
tried  to  hide  his  feelings — "I  could  n't  do  it,  old 
boy;  I  just  could  n't  leave  Father." 

Jack  was  generous  now  in  his  sympathy,  and, 
to  Harold's  surprise,  took  a  new  attitude  in  re 
gard  to  the  kite  plan. 

"I  don't  know  whether  we  can  get  away  with 
it,  Sandy ;  it 's  a  long  shot,  but — I  begin  to  feel 
that  you  're  working  under — higher  orders, 
that 's  a  fact,  and — maybe  there  's  some  reason 
why  it 's  better  we  should  n't  go  to  Damascus." 

This  was  the  second  time  John  McGreggor 
had  revealed  an  unsuspected  spiritual  side  to  his 
nature,  and  Sandy  felt  drawn  to  his  friend  more 
strongly  than  ever. 

"It 's  wonderful,  old  boy,  that  you  know  so 
much  about  kites,"  he  said  simply.  "I  could 
never  have  done  this  thing  alone." 

McGreggor  laughed.  ''Wait  till  I  get  that  silk 
rope  up  to  your  father  before  you  hand  me  any 
more  bouquets." 

The  boys  retired  presently,  but  were  awakened 
a  few  hours  later  by  Khalil,  who  entered  their 

283 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

tent  with  important  news.  One  of  his  men, 
prowling  about  near  Mar  Saba,  had  passed  a 
company  of  Turkish  soldiers,  and  learned  that 
they  had  been  sent  to  remove  an  American  from 
the  convent.  The  American  was  evidently  Dr. 
Evans. 

Jack  sat  up  in  astonishment.  "Turkish  sol 
diers  !  Say,  that  shows  there  is  a  big  man  back 
of  all  this !" 

"There  's  only  one  thing  to  do,  and  we  Ve  got 
to  do  it  quick,"  declared  Evans,  with  a  funny, 
little  sidewise  jerk  of  the  head.  Then  he  took 
the  Bedouin  aside  and  talked  to  him  earnestly 
in  Arabic.  And  he  gave  him  a  handful  of  liras, 
whereupon  Khalil  saluted  most  respectfully,  and 
hurried  off. 

"Anyhow,  we  've  got  these  Bedouins  on  our 
side,"  said  Harold.  "It 's  partly  the  kites — 
they  think  we  're  a  couple  of  magicians — and  it 's 
partly  Basil's  money,  and — besides,  they  nat 
urally  hate  Turkish  soldiers." 

"What  are  we  going  to  do,  Sandy?" 

"We  're  going  to  get  that  rope  up  to  Father. 
We  Ve  got  two  days.  This  is  Thursday.  To 
morrow  is  Friday  and  a  Turkish  holiday.  So  the 
soldiers  won't  take  Father  away  until  Saturday. 

284 


RUNAWAY  KITES 

Khalil  is  sure  he  can  fix  that — with  the  money  I 
gave  him." 

"Two  days !"  reflected  Jack.  "Say,  it  '11  keep 
us  hustling." 

"We  '11  hustle !"  said  Sandy,  with  grim  de 
cision. 

The  hoys  were  up  soon  after  daybreak,  and 
worked  faithfully  through  the  morning,  McGreg- 
gor  constructing  a  reel  to  resist  the  heavy  pull 
of  the  kite-cord,  while  Harold  experimented  with 
the  kites  themselves. 

And  now  there  came  a  strange  happening  that 
nearly  upset  all  their  plans  of  rescue.  A  stiff 
wind  was  blowing  from  the  west,  and  when 
Harold  had  hitched  five  kites  to  the  main  line,  he 
found  the  pull  so  strong  (sixty  or  seventy 
pounds,  McGreggor  estimated)  that  he  felt  it 
would  not  be  safe  to  add  any  more  kites  until  the 
reel  was  ready.  He  was  just  easing  the  strain 
by  hitching  the  cord  around  a  venerable  fig-tree, 
when  there  came  a  cry  of  surprise  from  the 
group  of  Bedouins,  and,  looking  up,  Harold  dis 
covered  that  one  of  the  kites  had  changed  its 
color.  It  was  the  leader,  a  tailless  kite  covered 
with  cherry-red  paper,  but  now,  as  it  swung  im 
pressively  against  the  clear  blue  sky,  Harold  saw 

285 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

that  its  red  surface  was  surrounded  by  a  border 
of  bright  green. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  explain  this,  as  he 
might  have  done  by  applying  what  he  had 
learned  about  complementary  colors  in  his  text 
book  on  physics,  and  he  stared  in  astonishment. 
He  was  wearing  his  sun  glasses,  as  usual,  and, 
thinking  they  might  be  blurred,  he  tucked  the  kite- 
stick  under  his  arm  and  tried  to  clean  them,  but, 
at  this  moment,  there  came  a  fierce,  treacherous 
gust,  and,  before  Harold  realized  the  danger, 
the  whole  string  of  kites,  on  which  everything 
depended,  was  sailing  away  down  the  valley  at 
the  speed  of  an  express  train,  and  headed  straight 
for  the  Dead  Sea. 

"Oh,  you  idiot!"  shouted  Jack,  as  he  rushed 
out  of  the  tent  and  witnessed  the  disaster. 
"Have  n't  you  got  any  sense?  Did  n't  I  tell  you 
we  could  n't  fly  those  kites  without  a  reel  ?" 
Then  he  stopped  short  in  his  outburst  at  the  sight 
of  Harold's  grief-stricken  face. 

"You  're  right,  Jack,"  said  Evans,  in  dull  de 
spair.  "I — I  am  an  idiot." 

The  boys  stood  helpless,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the 
runaway  kites  as  they  swept  on,  dropping  lower 
and  growing  smaller,  until  finally  they  almost 
vanished  in  the  east. 

286 


"I  'm  afraid  that  ends  our  program,  old  boy," 
said  McGreggor  kindly.  "It 's  hard  luck." 

"Wait!"  cried  Harold,  who  had  been  shading 
his  eyes  and  staring  toward  the  horizon.  "I  may 
be  crazy,  but — Jack!  It  seems  to  me  I  see  those 
kites  still.  It 's  true !  The  string  has  caught  on 
something  and — quick!  the  horses!"  he  called  in 
great  excitement. 

"By  George !  I  believe  you  're  right !"  ex 
claimed  Jack.  "I  see  'em,  too." 

Five  minutes  later,  in  spite  of  the  blistering 
heat  that  sizzled  over  the  Jordan  valley  during 
these  midday  hours,  the  boys,  acompanied  by 
Deeny  and  Gabriel  and  one  of  the  Bedouins,  set 
•out  on  a  gallop  in  the  direction  of  the  Dead  Sea. 
And  half  an  hour  later,  they  reached  a  pile  of 
rocks,  where  it  was  found  that  the  stick  at  the 
end  of  the  kite-cord,  as  it  whirled  along,  had 
managed  somehow  to  entangle  itself  in  a  mound 
of  black  basalt  boulders  heaped  up  here  ages 
before,  for  no  other  purpose,  perhaps,  than  to 
bring  to  rest  these  five  wayward  kites. 

It  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  moments  to 
secure  the  runaways,  whereupon  the  boys  threw 
themselves  on  the  ground  and  rested  after  their 
exertions. 

The  heat  now  increased  until  it  became  almost 
287 


unbearable,  and  McGreggor  pointed  longingly  to 
the  line  of  blue  water  that  showed  across  the 
barren  plain. 

"That 's  the  Dead  Sea,"  said  Evans. 

"It  may  be  dead,  but  it 's  wet,  and — I  'd  give 
anything  I  've  got  for  a  swim  in  it." 

"A  swim  in  the  Dead  Sea,"  reflected  Harold. 
Then  he  spoke  to  the  Bedouin,  who  said  that, 
with  the  horses,  it  would  take  them  hardly  more 
than  ten  minutes  to  reach  this  strange  body  of 
water. 

"We  've  got  heaps  of  time,"  urged  Jack. 
"We  can't  start  back  anyway  until  it 's  cooler, 
and  we  've  earned  a  little  sport.  \Ve  '11  take  the 
kites  with  us.  Look  at  'em !  They  're  flying 
fine.  It 's  easy  enough  to  tow  'em  along  behind." 

So,  with  light  hearts,  the  young  sportsmen 
turned  their  horses  into  that  strange  arid  region 
that  lies  to  the  north  of  the  Dead  Sea.  What 
fantastic  shapes  of  the  salted  sand  are  here! 
Great,  white  fortresses,  one  would  say,  that  dot 
the  gleaming  plain  like  chessmen  on  a  board, 
weird  creations  of  spongy  white  mud,  and,  be 
yond  these,  the  sinister  lake  beneath  whose 
chastening  flood  the  wicked  cities  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah  are  believed  by  some  to  rest. 

For  half  an  hour  the  boys  swam  in  the  Dead 
288 


RUNAWAY  KITES 

Sea,  or,  rather,  lay  on  it  and  floated.  Any  one 
can  float  in  the  Dead  Sea,  by  reason  of  its  ex 
traordinary  buoyancy.  You  stretch  yourself  out 
as  you  please,  legs  up,  legs  down,  on  your  back, 
on  your  side,  and,  whatever  you  do,  you  lie  there, 
and  float.  It  is  impossible  to  sink  in  the  Dead 
Sea. 

This  buoyancy  of  the  water  suggested  to  the 
boys  a  new  and  amusing  sport  with  the  kites. 
The  wind  was  blowing  straight  across  a  rounded 
cove  where  they  were  bathing,  and  they  discov 
ered  that  they  could  lie  on  the  water,  first  one 
at  a  time  and  then  both  together,  and  let  the 
kites  tow  them  across  this  cove.  Then  they  would 
run  back  around  the  bank,  leading  the  kite-string, 
and  do  it  over  again. 

"Talk  about  your  motor-boats,"  laughed  Mc- 
Greggor.  "Why,  these  kites  would  tow  us  clear 
across  the  Dead  Sea,  if  the  wind  held  right." 

If  the  wind  held  right!  At  these  \vords  the 
boys  suddenly  became  serious. 

"I  say,  Sandy,"  said  Jack,  "do  you  remember 
how  that  Mar  Saba  cave  faces?" 

"It  faces  east,"  answered  Evans.  "Don't  you 
remember  how  the  sun  was  full  on  it  that  morn 
ing?" 

"That 's  so,  Then — if  this  wind  keeps  blow- 
289 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

ing  from  the  west,  it  won't  do.  We  Ve  got  to 
have  a  wind  from  the  east  to  get  that  rope  up 
to  your  father." 

"Yes,"  nodded  Harold.  "We  Ve  got  to  have 
a  wind  from  the  east.  We  're  going  to  have  a 
wind  from  the  east." 

"By  to-morrow  night  ?  That 's  our  last 
chance." 

"I  know.  The  wind  will  change  by  to-morrow 
night." 

"But — suppose  it  doesn't  change?" 

"It  will  change,"  insisted  Harold,  and  his  face 
shone  with  such  an  inspired  light  that  McGreg- 
gor  received  his  \vords  as  a  prophecy. 

"Yes,"  he  said  simply.  "I  guess  the  wind  will 
change." 


290 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   ESCAPE 

THE  wind  did  change.  After  blowing 
steadily  from  the  west  for  twenty-four 
hours,  it  swung  around  to  the  north  at  about  sun 
down  of  the  next  day,  and  an  hour  later,  it  veered 
suddenly  to  the  east  and  came  strongly  with  a 
storm  of  rain. 

"If  we  only  had  paraffined  paper,"  lamented 
Jack,  "we  could  send  these  kites  up  in  the 
wet !  They  '11  fly  in  anything  short  of  a  hurri 
cane,  but  if  we  send  'em  up  now,  the  paper  will 
soak  off  the  sticks." 

"We  Ve  got  to  send  'em  up,  anyway,"  decided 
Harold.  "It  will  take  some  time  for  the  paper  to 
soak  off."  Then  he  glanced  at  his  Waterbury. 
"Nine  o'clock.  We  need  n't  start  until  ten. 
Maybe  it  will  stop  raining." 

For  half  an  hour,  they  worked  like  beavers  on 
the  kite-cord,  waxing  it  carefully;  then  they 
waxed  the  surface  of  the  kites  as  well  as  they 

291 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

could,  but  they  knew  this  precaution  would  not 
avail  against  a  hard  rain. 

At  a  quarter  to  ten,  the  horses  and  men  were 
ready,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  a  resolute  little 
company,  with  a  full  escort  of  Bedouins,  set  out 
once  more  for  Mar  Saba.  When  they  reached 
the  top  of  the  mountain  facing  the  convent,  the 
rain  had  ceased  and  the  wind  was  blowing  a  half- 
gale  from  the  east. 

"It  beats  all  how  things  are  coming  our  way," 
marveled  McGreggor. 

Evans  looked  at  him  earnestly.  "You  can 
make  things  come  your  way,  Jack,  if  you  believe 
in  'em  hard  enough.  Now  let 's  hustle !" 

They  sent  the  kites  up  without  difficulty  from 
the  side  of  the  canon  opposite  the  cave,  and  saw 
them,  one  by  one  disappear  into  the  gray  night; 
and  they  felt  the  pull  of  the  kite-cord  increase 
until,  even  \vith  the  reel  strapped  securely  to  his 
waist,  it  took  all  of  McGreggor's  strength  to  con 
trol  the  nine  valiant  fliers. 

"Better  put  that  reel  on  Deeny,"  advised  Har 
old.  "He  's  got  the  weight  and  the  strength, 
and  when  these  hard  gusts  come — " 

"That 's  all  right,"  panted  Jack.  "Tell  Deeny 
to  stand  close  to  me  and  grab  the  line  if  I  need 

292 


THE  ESCAPE 

him.  Better  hitch  your  rope  on,  Sandy.  Say, 
but  these  kites  do  pull !" 

With  a  few  deft  turns  Harold  made  fast  the 
silken  rope,  and  then  stood  waiting  for  the  next 
move.  McGreggor  was  the  general  here,  and 
he  evidently  felt  the  weight  of  his  responsibility. 

"Now  what?"  asked  Sandy,  holding  ready  the 
coiled-up  eighty  yards  that  was  to  save  his  father. 
"Shall  we  feed  her  out?" 

Jack  shook  his  head  and  silently  studied  the 
up-slanting  kite-line  and  the  sky  above  it,  across 
which  were  hurrying  masses  of  thinning  clouds. 

"Wait !  We  '11  see  better  in  a  minute.  It 's 
clearing,  Sandy.  There  's  a  moon  in  there  some 
where  behind  those  clouds." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  small  cloud-area  bright 
ened  with  a  diffused  radiance  that  showed  where 
the  Lady  of  the  Night  was  hiding  herself.  And 
presently  the  opposite  precipice  came  into  clearer 
view,  and  the  cave  of  Wicklow  Evans,  the  top 
most  one  with  the  large  opening,  the  second  on 
the  right.  In  front  of  this  cave  was  the  ten-foot 
balcony,  and  down  from  this,  hugging  the  preci 
pice,  ran  a  zigzag  of  steep  ladders  that  reached 
to  the  second  gallery,  some  thirty  feet  below, 
upon  which  two  other  caves  opened.  In  each  of 

293 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

these  lower  caves,  a  dim  light  was  burning, 
whereas  Dr.  Evans'  cave  was  dark. 

McGreggor  pointed  to  these  lower  lights. 
"They  're  guarding  the  ladders  from  your 
father's  cave.  They  think  that 's  the  only  way 
he  can  escape — by  the  ladders.  Sandy,  are  you 
sure  your  father  is  ready?  Don't  you  think  we  'd 
better  call  to  him?" 

"No,  no,"  cautioned  Harold.  "That  would 
give  the  thing  away.  Father  's  ready,  all  right. 
Khalil  got  word  to  him.  He  '11  be  watching  for 
the  rope." 

For  some  minutes,  Jack  manoeuvered  skilfully 
with  the  kite-cord,  reeling  it  in  or  out,  and  walk 
ing  back  and  forth  along  the  edge  of  the  canon, 
like  a  sportsman  playing  some  huge  fish. 

"I  want  to  get  the  kites  into  the  best  position  I 
can,"  he  explained.  "Now  then !  Feed  out  your 
rope.  Not  too  fast !  That 's  right !  See  how 
they  lift  it!  Fine!" 

As  he  spoke,  Jack  reeled  out  the  kite-cord 
steadily.  The  ascending  line  carried  the  silk 
rope  with  it,  and  when  the  whole  eighty  yards 
were  suspended,  the  boys  were  delighted  to  see 
that  the  lower  end  of  this  pendant  rope  hung  well 
below  Dr.  Evans's  balcony. 

''He  's  only  got  to  reach  out  and  grab  it  when 
294 


THE  ESCAPE 

we  steer  it  across  to  him,"  said  Jack,  and  again 
he  manceuvered  with  the  kite-line.  "There! 
That 's  aimed  about  right." 

Now  he  let  the  reel  run  out  freely,  and  Harold 
thrilled  as  each  turn  of  the  handle  swung  the 
dangling  rope  nearer  to  the  cave. 

As  he  watched  anxiously,  young  Evans  re 
flected  that  these  two  grim  precipices,  facing  each 
other  across  the  canon,  were  like  two  thirty-story 
buildings  on  a  wide  city  street.  He  and  Jack, 
from  the  roof  of  one  building,  were  trying  to  get 
a  rope  across  to  a  man  in  a  window  on  the  fif 
teenth  story  of  the  opposite  building.  Only  this 
man,  Wicklow  Evans,  had  no  fire-escapes,  or 
marble  stairs,  or  electric  elevators  to  help  him. 
He  had  fifteen  stories  of  sheer  rock  above 
him,  and  fifteen  stories  of  sheer  rock  beneath 
him. 

Suddenly,  the  moon,  emerging  from  behind 
her  thin  covering,  silvered  the  mountains  with 
peaceful  splendor,  and,  at  this  moment,  there 
sounded  from  the  convent,  hidden  around  the  an 
gle  of  the  precipice,  a  muffled  chanting.  Harold 
closed  his  eyes  in  a  swift,  silent  prayer  that  they 
might  be  guided  and  blessed  this  night  in  the 
effort  they  were  making. 

Meantime  McGreggor  had  discovered  a  dark 
295 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

figure  moving  along  the  balcony  opposite,  a  fig 
ure  that  seemed  to  be  leaning  forward. 

"Sandy,  it 's  your  father !"  he  whispered. 
"Look !  He  's  reaching  for  it !  He  's  got  it ! 
He  's  got  the  rope !" 

Harold  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  that  the  great 
moment  had  come.  The  man  on  the  fifteenth 
story  of  the  sky-scraper  was  about  to  descend. 
There  was  nothing  the  boys  could  do  now  except 
to  watch  breathlessly. 

"I  don't  like  this  moonlight,"  muttered  Evans. 
"I  wish  he  would  hurry." 

"He  is  hurrying.  See  ?  He  's  hauling  down 
the  silk  rope  and  the  kite-line  with  it.  There ! 
He  's  got  it.  He  's  untying  it.  Catch  hold  of 
the  reel  with  me,  Sandy.  This  kite-cord  's  go 
ing  to  snap  up  like  a  whip  when  he  lets  it  go. 
Ah!  I  told  you." 

As  Dr.  Evans  loosed  the  rope  from  the  strain 
ing  kite-cord,  the  latter,  relieved  of  its  load, 
sprang  up  so  suddenly  and  violently  that  it  hissed 
through  the  air  and  dragged  the  two  boys  for 
ward,  although  they  were  braced  against  it. 

"Whoa,  there!"  puffed  McGreggor.  "They 
don't  pull  at  all,  do  they,  our  little  hustlers !  I  've 
got  a  blister  on  my  thumb  from  this  reel.  Whoa, 

296 


THE  ESCAPE 

there !  Say,  it 's  lucky  I  fixed  this  leather 
brake." 

"Jack!  Look!"  Harold  touched  his  friend's 
arm  and  pointed  across  the  gulf. 

"Oh!"  murmured  Jack. 

Dr.  Evans'  descent  had  begun,  and,  in  the 
clear  moonlight,  the  boys  could  follow  every  de 
tail  of  it  as  distinctly  as  if  they  were  seated  in  a 
theater  watching  some  sensational  act  of  melo 
drama.  There  was  the  silken  rope  hanging  down 
from  the  little  balcony  where  the  escaping  pris 
oner  had  lashed  it,  straight  down  into  the  void, 
and  swaying  gently  as  the  night  wind  caught  it. 

"He  's  swinging  off,"  whispered  McGreggor. 
"He  's  got  something  white  in  each  hand,  a  hand 
kerchief  probably,  so  the  rope  won't  burn  him. 
Hello!  What's  that?" 

Just  as  Dr.  Evans  began  to  slide  down  the 
rope,  there  came  a  sound  of  excited  voices,  and 
two  Turkish  soldiers  rushed  out  upon  the  lower 
balcony  and  pointed,  with  shouts  and  gesticula 
tions,  to  the  descending  missionary,  hanging  on 
the  rope  not  twenty  feet  away  from  them.  It 
was  too  late  for  Dr.  Evans  to  draw  back. 

"Oh,  save  my  father !''  prayed  Harold.  Then 
he  turned  away  in  sickening  suspense,  as  one  of 

297 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

the  Turks  leveled  his  weapon  at  the  descending 
figure. 

"Vnrma!"  ("Don't  shoot!")  said  the  other  sol 
dier,  sharply. 

Sandy  faced  about  with  a  gasp  of  joy.  Dr. 
Evans  was  swinging  well  below  his  enemies,  and 
descending  rapidly.  It  seemed  as  if  the  soldiers 
would  let  him  escape  without  interference,  but 
now  one  of  them  darted  into  the  cave  and  ap 
peared  again  with  something  that  flashed  in  the 
moonlight. 

"A  hatchet,"  frowned  Jack.  "What  does  he 
want  with  a  hatchet?" 

Now  the  two  soldiers  sprang  up  the  zigzag 
ladders  that  led  to  the  upper  balcony  where  the 
fugitive's  rope  was  attached.  They  paused  long 
enough  to  stand  their  guns  against  the  rock,  then 
the  hatchet  man  bent  eagerly  over  the  knotted 
line,  while  his  companion  peered  down  into  the 
depths  where  Wicklow  Evans  was  hanging  a 
hundred  feet  above-ground,  with  one  leg  braced 
against  the  precipice.  He  seemed  to  be  resting. 

"Hasir  oil"  ("Ready!")  called  the  soldier  in 
authority.  "Kesmeli,  cmrl  vcrcncli  kadar  bck- 
Ich!"  ("Don't  cut  until  I  give  the  word!") 

The  hatchet  man  lifted  his  weapon  and  stood 
298 


THE  ESCAPE 

waiting.  Then  Sandy  Evans  had  his  great  in 
spiration. 

"I  've  got  to  get  over  there,  Jack/'  he  said 
quickly.  "It 's  our  only  chance.  I  'm  going  to 
swing  across  on  this  kite-line.  It  will  hold  me 
all  right.  You  said  these  kites  will  lift  a  hun 
dred  and  twenty  pounds.  I  only  weigh  a  hun 
dred  and  five  and — they  've  got  to  hold  me." 

"But  you  can't—" 

"Yes,  I  can.  I  can  hold  on  by  my  hands.  I  Ve 
got  to.  It  is  n't  over  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
across.  Steer  me  for  those  soldiers.  They 
won't  know  I  'm  coming.  Now  then !" 

Before  McGreggor  could  make  further  protest, 
Harold,  with  a  smothered,  "Good-by,  old  boy! 
Good-by,  Deeny!"  had  seized  the  kite-cord,  and, 
with  a  splendid  spring,  had  hurled  himself  for 
ward  into  the  gulf! 


299 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

OVER    THE    GULF 

SO  startled  was  John  McGreggor  by  this  sud 
den  happening  that  he  quite  forgot  all  man 
agement  of  the  kites,  and  let  the  cord  spin  out 
furiously  from  the  reel,  a  hundred  feet  or  so,  be 
fore  he  recovered  his  self-possession  sufficiently 
to  press  down  the  leather  brake.  It  was  perhaps 
as  well  that  he  did  this,  for  the  impact  of  Har 
old's  weight  in  that  reckless  leap  might  have 
snapped  the  kite-cord  if  the  strain  had  not  been 
eased.  As  it  was,  the  cord  held  firm,  and  Jack 
found  himself  braced  against  the  pull  by  the  clasp 
of  Deeny's  mighty  arms. 

Sandy  Evans,  meantime,  was  clinging  for  his 
life  to  the  descending  line.  At  first,  he  dropped 
so  rapidly  that  he  thought  the  cord  must  have 
broken  or  the  kites  collapsed — it  was  worse  than 
the  fastest  elevator  he  had  ever  ridden  in,  and— 
that  was  funny — even  now,  as  he  fell,  he  could 
hear  an  elevator  man  he  had  known  in  America, 
a  colored  man,  saying  very  distinctly:  "Going 
down.  Call  your  floors,  please." 

300 


How  Harold's  leap  worked  out. 
A.  The  kite-fliers.    B,  Harold,    C.  Kites.    D.  Balcony. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Presently,  Harold's  speed  diminished,  as  the 
kites  took  up  the  slackened  cord,  and  he  felt  him 
self  borne  along  gently,  as  if  on  a  wonderful 
springy  cushion.  He  decided  not  to  look  down — - 
yet.  There  was  no  use  getting  dizzy.  He 
would  keep  his  eyes  leveled,  fixed  on  the  precipice 
ahead  where  the  cave  was.  Hello!  Where  was 
the  precipice  ?  Why  could  n't  he  stop  spinning 
around  like  a  top  ?  And — oh,  dear !  if  he  only  had 
something  to  keep  this  kite-cord  from  cutting  into 
his  hands! 

Such  were  Sandy's  thoughts  during  the  space 
of  half  a  minute  or  less  (it  seemed  an  hour  to 
him)  while  he  swung  across  the  canon  in  his  swift 
downward-slanting  flight;  a  moment  more,  and 
he  bumped  against  the  rocky  wall.  One  glance 
downward  showed  him  how  very  brief  had  been 
the  period  of  his  aerial  flight,  for,  as  he  looked, 
there  on  the  balcony  about  fifteen  feet  beneath 
him,  were  the  two  Turkish  soldiers,  quite  un 
suspicious,  still  watching  the  descending  figure 
of  Wicklow  Evans,  far  below.  And  the  hatchet 
man  was  still  waiting  the  word  to  cut. 

Harold  suddenly  realized  that  he  was  getting 
very  tired.  He  had  been  hanging  by  his  hands 
for  a  long  time — sixty  seconds — and  his  arms 
ached  abominably.  Why  did  n't  Jack  let  out 

302 


OVER  THE  GULF 

more  kite-cord  and  lower  him  down  ?  What  was 
the  matter  with  Jack,  anyway?  How  long"  did 
he  think  a  fellow  could  hang1  by  his  hands  from 
a  cord  that  cut  like  a  knife? 

Suddenly,  the  soldier  who  was  watching  called 
out:  "Hasir  oil"  ("Ready!") 

The  hatchet  bearer  lifted  his  blade  and,  at  that 
instant,  Harold,  with  his  last  flicker  of  strength, 
leaped  full  at  the  man,  striking  him  a  terrific 
blow  with  his  feet,  and  hurling  him  back,  half 
stunned,  upon  the  balcony.  At  the  same  time, 
the  boy  caught  up  the  hatchet  dropped  by  the 
soldier,  and  turned  to  face  his  other  adversary. 
This  man,  however,  overcome  by  terror  fell  on 
his  knees  and  begged  for  mercy.  He  was  brave 
enough,  as  Turkish  soldiers  go,  but  he  could  not 
undertake  to  fight  fierce  spirits  of  the  air  that 
descended  upon  people  out  of  the  night. 

With  this  great  advantage,  it  was  easy  enough 
for  Evans  to  tie  securely  the  hands  of  the  two 
Turks,  using  for  this  a  length  of  kite-cord  that 
he  had  in  his  pocket.  Then,  turning  quickly  to 
the  edge  of  the  balcony,  he  discovered,  to  his 
relief,  that  the  silk  rope  still  offered  its  shining 
way  of  escape.  His  father  had  evidently  reached 
the  ground. 

Pausing  only  long  enough  to  bind  up  his  chafed 

303 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

hands  with  strips  of  linen  torn  from  his  handker 
chief,  Harold  grasped  the  rope,  and  came  down 
its  eighty  yards  without  any  mishap  except  a  tear 
in  his  trousers  and  a  bruise  on  his  leg  from  bump 
ing  into  a  projection  of  the  precipice. 

As  the  young  climber  approached  the  depths 
of  the  canon,  he  found  himself  greeted  by  a  mur 
mur  of  astonished  voices,  and,  glancing  down, 
he  met  the  upturned  faces  of  a  group  of  Bedouins, 
among  whom  he  saw  the  stately  figure  of  Khalil. 

"Where  is  my  father?"  was  Harold's  first 
question,  as  he  sprang  to  the  ground. 

The  Arab  explained  that  Dr.  Evans  was  safe, 
but  he  had  suffered  an  injury  to  his  leg,  and 
two  of  the  men  had  carried  him  to  a  point  a  little 
farther  on,  where,  by  an  easy  ascent,  he  could 
reach  the  horses  that  were  waiting. 

Without  losing  an  instant,  Harold  hastened  to 
this  spot  under  the  guidance  of  Khalil,  and  on 
the  way  explained  briefly  to  the  Bedouin  the 
miracle  of  his  own  crossing  over  the  chasm  on  the 
kite-cord. 

A  little  later,  Harold  entered  a  miserable,  mud- 
walled  stable,  where  he  found  his  father  seated 
on  a  wooden  bench  with  his  right  leg  bared  to  the 
knee,  and  Gabriel  rubbing  it  by  the  light  of  a 
smoky  lantern, 

304 


OVER  THE  GULE 

"Eather!"  cried  the  boy  as  he  pushed  forward 
eagerly. 

The  doctor  started  to  his  feet  in  joyful  sur 
prise. 

"Harold!     My  son!     My  boy!" 

For  some  moments,  they  stood  clasped  in  each 
other's  arms,  their  hearts  full  of  silent  happiness. 
Then,  at  the  doctor's  insistence,  the  lad  related, 
as  simply  as  he  could,  what  had  happened,  and 
how  he  had  got  there.  And  the  father's  eyes,  as 
he  listened,  shone  with  gratitude  and  love,  while 
he  murmured  again  and  again,  proudly  and 
thankfully,  "My  boy !  My  boy !" 

After  this,  it  was  Harold's  turn,  and  he  asked 
with  concern  about  his  father's  injury.  The  doc 
tor  said  he  had  given  one  of  his  knee-tendons  a 
bad  wrench,  and  it  was  paining  him.  No,  this 
had  not  happened  in  sliding  down  the  rope,  al 
though  the  spinning  around  had  made  things 
worse  by  striking  his  knee  against  a  rock — that 
was  why  he  had  descended  slowly. 

"And  now  about  your  mother?"  exclaimed 
Wicklow  Evans,  suddenly.  "You  have  n't  said  a 
word  about  your  mother.  Where  is  she? 
Where  have  you  left  her?  Is  she  well?"  he 
asked  eagerly. 

Harold  hesitated.  He  did  not  know  how  to 
305 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

break  the  bad  news.     "I — I  think  Mother  is  well, 
but — no,  she  is  n't  with  me." 

"I  suppose  you  left  her  in  Jerusalem?" 
"No,"  said  Harold,  "I— I  left  her  in  Egypt." 
"Egypt?"  repeated  the  doctor  in  astonishment, 
and  he  was  about  to  seek  further  enlightenment 
when  a  rider  was  heard  approaching  at  a  furious 
pace,  and  a  moment  later  Khalil  burst  in  to 
say  that  they  must  get  into  their  saddles  instantly. 
The  alarm  had  been  given  in  the  convent,  and  a 
company  of  Turkish  soldiers  were  galloping 
after  them  in  hot  pursuit.  There  was  not  a  sec 
ond  to  lose.  The  party  hastily  mounted  and  a 
minute  later  were  gone  into  the  night. 


306 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    RING 

THE  next  hour  was  one  of  torture  to  Wick- 
low  Evans,  for  every  movement  of  the 
horse  sent  a  throb  of  pain  through  his  injured 
leg,  and  they  were  obliged  to  go  at  the  greatest 
possible  speed,  owing  to  the  imminent  danger 
behind.  More  than  once  the  doctor  was  on  the 
point  of  declaring  that  he  could  endure  it  no 
longer,  but  the  thought  of  his  loved  ones  and  a 
great  longing  for  freedom  gave  him  courage  to 
go  on.  As  they  crossed  a  narrow  bridge,  how 
ever,  that  led  into  a  rocky  defile,  the  missionary 
swayed  in  his  saddle,  and  would  have  fallen  to 
the  ground  had  not  Harold  supported  him. 

There  was  a  hasty  consultation  with  Khalil 
when  it  was  seen  that  the  doctor  could  go  no 
farther.  He  was  almost  fainting.  The  Bed 
ouin  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  agreed  that 
they  must  rest  here.  After  all,  there  was  not  a 
better  place  in  the  whole  mountain-range  for 
them  to  stop.  And  at  once  he  gave  instructions 

3°7 


The  missionary  swayed  in  his  saddle,  and  would  have  fallen  to 
the  ground. 


THE  RING 

to  his  men.  They  were  to  divide  into  two  bodies 
and  ambush  themselves  at  either  end  of  the 
bridge.  They  were  to  let  the  Turks  cross  over, 
and  then  the  Bedouins  ahead  were  to  open  fire 
from  the  rocks.  When  the  soldiers  turned  to 
retreat  across  the  bridge,  the  Bedouins  behind 
were  to  shoot  them  down.  Not  a  man  must 
escape. 

During  this,  Harold  had  assisted  his  father  to 
alight,  and  had  spread  a  blanket  on  the  ground 
to  make  him  more  comfortable.  The  doctor  in 
his  weakness  and  distress  did  not  at  first  under 
stand  what  the  Arabs  were  planning,  but  as  soon 
as  it  was  explained  to  him,  he  positively  refused 
to  permit  such  a  massacre.  Khalil  declared  that 
it  was  their  lives  against  the  Turks'  lives,  and 
the  latter  had  thirty  men  to  fifteen.  They  would 
not  have  a  chance  in  the  world  if  they  tried  to 
fight  the  soldiers  on  an  equality. 

"We  will  not  fight  them  at  all,"  replied  the  mis 
sionary. 

In  vain  Khalil  protested.  Dr.  Evans  was  firm. 
Come  what  might,  he  would  not  tolerate  any 
plan  of  bloodshed.  And  after  wavering  a  mo 
ment,  Harold  stood  by  his  father  with  all  the  au 
thority  that  Basil  had  given  him.  There  should 
be  no  bloodshed. 

309 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

While  they  were  still  discussing  this,  three  rid 
ers  approached  rapidly  out  of  the  shadows,  and 
were  seen  to  be  Nasr-ed-Din,  and  Jack,  and 
the  Bedouin  guide;  they  had  hurried  down  from 
across  the  ravine  and  arrived  breathless  with 
news  that  the  soldiers  were  just  behind  them. 
Even  as  they  spoke,  there  came  the  shouts  of 
horsemen  dashing  along  the  mountain  side,  and 
several  stray  shots. 

It  was  a  hard  situation  for  Dr.  Evans.  No  one 
realized  the  danger  better  than  he,  and  this  dan 
ger  threatened  his  own  son — his  only  son — and 
his  son's  friend,  who  was  now  hurriedly  intro 
duced  to  him. 

"Harold,"  said  the  doctor,  earnestly,  "I  want 
you  and  Jack  to  leave  me  and  go  on  with  these 
Bedouins.  Go  to  Damascus  as  I  wrote  you 
and—" 

"It 's  no  use,  Father,"  interrupted  the  boy.  "I 
can't  do  it." 

"You  must  do  it.  Nasr-er-Din  will  stay  with 
me.  Eh,  Deeny?"  The  missionary  held  out  his 
hand,  and  the  faithful  servant  kissed  it  with  af 
fectionate  mumblings.  "Go,  my  boy,  before  it 's 
too  late." 

The  shouts  were  coming  nearer.  It  was  only 
a  matter  of  minutes  now  when  the  Turks  would 

310 


THE  RING 

be  upon  them.  Khalil  spoke  again  impatiently, 
saying  that  he  and  his  men  were  going.  They 
did  not  propose  to  stay  there  and  be  killed. 
They  would  fight  to  the  last  for  the  effendis,  but, 
if  the  effendis  would  not  allow  them  to  fight, 
then  they  must  save  their  own  lives. 

As  the  Bedouins  mounted  their  horses  for  the 
start,  the  missionary  made  a  last  appeal  to  his 
son  to  leave  him. 

"No,"  said  Harold  firmly,  "but — "  he  turned  to 
his  friend,  "you  'd  better  go,  Jack.  Father  and 
I — we  're  in  this  together,  but — why  should  you 
risk  your  life?  Take  the  ring,  old  boy,  and  go 
on  to  Damascus  and  see  Abdul  Pasha.  That 's 
the  most  sensible  thing.  That 's  the  way  to  save 
us."  He  drew  the  ring  from  his  pocket  and  of 
fered  it  to  his  friend. 

With  all  his  heart  John  McGreggor  wanted  to 
go.  He  would  have  given  everything  he  had  in 
the  world,  his  moving-picture  plans,  his  trip 
around  the  world,  everything,  to  be  off  on  a 
horse,  out  of  this  fix,  out  of  this  land,  back  in 
some  nice  safe  town  like  Chicago,  where  blood 
thirsty  soldiers  did  not  come  rushing  at  you  out  of 
the  mountains.  And  yet  when  he  looked  into  the 
strong,  calm  face  of  this  gray-eyed  doctor  (he 
could  see  the  likeness  to  Sandy  in  the  eyes), 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

there  was  something  in  him  that  stirred  against 
the  idea  of  running  away. 

"I — I  guess  I  '11  stay,"  he  said  quietly,  and  then, 
in  sudden  fear  of  weakening,  he  motioned  fiercely 
to  the  Bedouins  to  be  gone.  "Haidee,  gJiit!" 
("Now  hurry!")  he  cried. 

"Well,  it  is  settled  now,"  sighed  Dr.  Evans, 
as  the  Arabs  galloped  off.  "Whatever  is  to  hap 
pen,  will  happen.  You  are  brave  boys,  both  of 
you,  but — let  me  warn  you  not  to  resist  these 
Turks.  Look  at  them  pleasantly.  Speak  to 
them  pleasantly.  They  do  not  wish  to  harm  us. 
They  have  not  harmed  me — that  is  to  say,  there 
was  one  exception.  An  officer  struck  me  back 
of  the  knee  as  I  was  going  up  the  ladder.  That 
is  what  hurt  my  leg." 

"The  brute !"  cried  Harold. 

"No,  no!"  answered  the  missionary,  gently. 
"He  did  not  understand.  There  is  a  purpose 
back  of  all  that  we  suffer,  and — I  want  you  boys 
to  hold  this  thought,  hold  it  hard  every  minute, 
that  God  is  near  us  and  is  watching  over  us,  and 
that  we  need  fear  no  harm  or  wrong  except  the 
harm  or  wrong  that  we  do  ourselves.  Let  your 
prayer  be  what  mine  has  been  for  years :  'Keep 
me  free  from  fear,  and  make  vie  kind.' ' 

Scarcely  had  Dr.  Evans  spoken  these  words, 
312 


THE  RING 

when  the  rushing'  horses  of  the  Turkish  soldiers 
thundered  across  the  bridge,  then  drew  up 
sharply  as  the  pursuers  saw  the  Americans  be 
fore  them. 

A  harsh  order  rang  out,  whereupon  the  horse 
men  dismounted  and  advanced  upon  the  unresist 
ing  group,  missionary,  boys,  and  servant.  Then 
things  happened  rapidly.  First,  Nasr-ed-Din 
was  seized  and  carried  off,  fighting  so  desper 
ately,  in  spite  of  the  doctor's  admonitions,  that  it 
took  four  men  to  subdue  him.  Next,  Dr.  Evans 
himself  was  taken,  and  his  hands  securely  tied. 
Then  Jack  McGreggor  was  similarly  treated. 
And  these  three,  by  order  of  the  officer  in  com 
mand,  were  at  once  thrown  upon  horses,  none  too 
gently,  and  borne  away  under  a  strong  guard. 

Harold  was  left  alone  with  the  officer  in  com 
mand,  a  fierce-looking  Turk  with  bushy  eyebrows 
and  bristling  gray  mustache.  To  the  boy's  sur 
prise,  he  spoke  English  with  what  seemed  to  be 
a  German  accent. 

"Iss  it  true  that  you  sent  up  a — what  do  you 
call  it?  A — Drachc? — a — trouztig?" 

"A  kite?"  supplied  Evans,  recognizing  the 
Turkish  word. 

"Yes,  you  sent  one  up?     Did  you?" 

"I  sent  nine  up,"  nodded  the  boy. 

313 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Nine  kites !"  The  officer  studied  Harold  with 
incredulous  interest.  "You  used  a  kite-cord  to 
cross  the  Thai — the  dcre — the — ah,  yes,  the  val 
ley?" 

"I  would  n't  call  it  a  valley.  It 's  a  gorge,  a 
ravine,  a  chasm.  It 's  too  deep  for  a  valley,  and 
too  narrow.  It  is  n't  more  than  fifty  yards 
across." 

"No  matter.  You  came  across  this — gorge, 
this — chasm,  whatever  you  call  it,  on  a  kite-cord  ? 
You  mean  to  tell  me  that  ?" 

"Certainly  I  do." 

The  officer  bit  nervously  at  his  short  mustache 
with  strong  yellow  teeth,  and  his  face  grew  very 
red. 

"I  do  not  believe  it !"  he  declared. 

Harold  lifted  his  head  defiantly.  "It 's  true  all 
the  same." 

At  this,  the  officer  flew  into  a  purple  rage. 
"You  dare  to  contradict  me  ?  I  '11  make  you 
suffer  for  this — this  iim'crsch'dintlicit — this 
putanmaz — this—  '  but  the  English  word  would 
not  come. 

"You  mean  impertinence,"  translated  the  boy, 
"but  you  're  wrong,  sir ;  I  don't  mean  to  be  im 
pertinent." 

The  Turk's  anger  had  now  passed  all  bounds, 
and  he  ordered  his  men  to  take  the  prisoner 


THE  RING 

away,  the  dog  of  a  prisoner.  Lei  them  search 
him,  first,  for  weapons  or  papers. 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  the  officer 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  puffed  furiously  at  it 
while  two  rough  soldiers  went  through  Harold's 
clothes.  The  touch  of  their  heavy  hands  brought 
home  to  the  hoy  the  seriousness  of  his  situation. 
He  remembered  his  father's  last  instructions  that 
he  must  speak  pleasantly  to  these  Turks,  and 
even  look  at  them  pleasantly.  He  was  conscious 
that  he  had  been  glaring  at  the  officer  while  the 
men  searched  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  the  boy  began,  in  his 
pleasantest  manner,  but  the  Turk  brushed  him 
away  with  a  contemptuous  wave  of  his  hand,  and, 
turning  to  his  men,  asked  if  they  had  secured 
everything  that  was  about  the  prisoner's  person. 
The  soldiers  bowed  respectfully,  and  tendered  the 
articles  found,  a  pistol,  a  money  belt,  a  pocket- 
knife,  a  box  of  matches,  a  pencil,  and  a  letter. 
It  was  the  letter  that  Dr.  Evans  had  dropped 
from  the  cave. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  Harold  began  again, 
and  his  voice  and  his  eyes  were  so  conciliatory 
that  the  officer  at  last  vouchsafed  a  reply, 
although  it  was  a  rough  one. 

"Speak  when  you  are  spoken  to !"  he  snapped. 

315 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Evans. 

"Why  did  you  stop  and  let  us  take  you?"  the 
officer  asked  presently.  "Why  did  you  not 
fight?  Iss  it  that  you  were  afraid?" 

Harold  flushed,  but  controlled  himself.  "No, 
sir,  only — my  father  does  not  believe  in  fighting. 
He  has  spent  all  his  life  doing  good  to  people, 
and — besides,  he  has  hurt  his  leg,  and — he  must 
have  attention,"  pleaded  the  boy. 

The  answer  was  a  brutal  gesture.  "He  shall 
have  attention,  and  you,  too."  The  officer  turned 
abruptly  to  his  men.  "Take  this  prisoner  away. 
Put  him  in  irons — with  the  others.  Wait! 
What  is  this?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  angry  leader  had  opened  the 
envelope  containing  Dr.  Evans's  letter,  and  the 
ring  had  fallen  out. 

"It 's  a  ring  that  my  father  sent  me." 

"Yes,  yes,  but  where  did  he  get  this  ring?" 

"It  was  given  to  him  by  a  friend." 

For  some  moments  the  officer  did  not  speak, 
but  stood  frowning  at  the  strange  inscription 
carved  on  the  brown  stone  of  the  ring.  The 
soldiers,  taking  this  silence  of  their  leader  as  a 
sign  of  dismissal,  started  to  lead  the  young  Amer 
ican  away,  but  Harold  sprang  to  the  officer's  side 
in  one  last  desperate  appeal. 

316 


Harold  sprang  to  the  officer's  side  in  one  last  desperate  appeal. 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Don't  let  them  be  cruel  to  my  father,  sir,"  he 
cried.  "And  don't  take  me  away  from  him.  If 
you  only  knew  what  pain  he  is  in  from  his  leg. 
He  almost  fell  from  his  horse.  I  '11  bear  any 
thing  afterward,  sir,  anything  you  like.  I  'm 
young,  and  it  does  n't  matter,  but — let  me  take 
care  of  my  father,  sir,  and  don't  put  him  in  irons ; 
please  don't." 

Now  the  Turk  looked  up,  and,  as  he  saw  the 
soldiers  dragging  Harold  off,  his  eyes  blazed. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  thundered  at  them. 

"We — we  thought,  sir,"  stammered  one  of  the 
men,  "we  thought  you  said  to — 

"Take  your  hands  off  this  gentleman.  Get  on 
your  horses  and  ride  to  camp.  Tell  the  officer  in 
charge  that  there  has  been  a  mistake.  His  orders 
are  to  treat  the  other  two  gentlemen  and  their 
servant  as  my  friends.  Understand  me?  As 
my  friends!  Now  ride,  if  you  value  your  skins !" 


318 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BLACK    EAGLES 

IT  seemed  as  if  Providence  was  beginning  to 
smile  upon  the  sorely  pressed  fugitives.  As 
suddenly  as  the  wind,  earlier  in  the  night,  had 
shifted  from  north  to  east,  so  now,  at  dawn,  did 
this  brutal  Turkish  officer  (Lieutenant  Cherik 
was  his  name)  change  to  kindness  and  devotion. 
The  Americans  were  at  once  set  at  liberty,  their 
possessions  were  restored  to  them,  and  they  were 
shown  every  attention. 

"I  don't  know  how  you  work  it,  Sandy,"  ex 
claimed  McGreggor,  an  hour  later  in  camp,  as 
they  sat  down  to  a  breakfast  served  with  gener 
ous  hospitality  in  the  officers'  own  tent.  "This 
is  the  second  fire-eater  you  've  tamed.  He  makes 
'em  sit  right  up  and  be  good,  sir,"  Jack  turned, 
laughing,  to  Dr.  Evans. 

"I  did  nothing,"  said  Sandy,  modestly.  "It 
was  Father  who  won  over  the  Greek  monk,  and 
it  is  Father's  ring  that  has  helped  us  now.  Be 
sides,  if  you  had  n't  been  a  wonder  in  sending 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

up  kites — yes,  you  are,  Jack,  you  know  you  are. 
Why,  Father,  he  made  the  dandiest  reel  with  a 
leather  brake — you  strap  it  around  your  waist, 
and — "  Harold  stopped  short  with  a  new 
thought.  "By  the  way,  what  about  those  kites? 
What  did  you  do  with  'em  ?" 

"Tied  'em  up  with  pink  ribbons  and  laid  'em 
on  the  piano  to  cool  off,"  said  Jack,  with  a  grin. 
"You  mountain  antelope!  What  do  you  think  I 
did  with  'em !  I  let  'em  go.  I  had  to  and  came 
chasing  down  the  mountain  after  you.  Say,  but 
this  is  certainly  a  bully  good  breakfast !" 

After  the  meal  they  were  shown  to  a  com 
fortable  tent  where  they  might  sleep  off  the 
fatigues  and  emotions  of  the  night.  Before  re 
tiring,  however,  Harold  indicated  to  Jack  that  he 
wished  to  be  alone  with  his  father. 

"You  're  going  to  tell  him — about  your 
mother?"  whispered  McGreggor. 

"Yes.     I  can't  keep  it  any  longer." 

"Good  luck,  old  boy !"  Jack  gave  his  friend's 
hand  a  squeeze,  and,  strolling  out  of  the  tent, 
joined  a  circle  of  soldiers  whom  Deeny  was  amus 
ing  with  his  stories. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  son?"  asked  the  doc 
tor,  when  the  two  were  alone.  "You  look  wor 
ried." 

320 


BLACK  EAGLES 

"I  am  worried,"  replied  Harold.  "There 's 
something-  I  've  got  to  tell  you,  Father." 

Dr.  Evans  studied  the  boy  and  into  his  eyes 
there  came  a  look  of  sudden  understanding. 
''It 's  about  your  mother,"  he  said. 

"Why— er— yes." 

"You  don't  know  where  your  mother  is." 

Harold  stared  in  amazement.  "Did  Deeny 
tell  you?" 

"No  one  told  me,"  answered  the  missionary, 
gravely,  "but  I  know  it — I  feel  it.  Tell  me 
everything." 

Harold  needed  no  urging,  and  went  rapidly 
over  all  that  had  happened  since  his  landing  at 
Alexandria,  a  few  weeks  before.  Was  it  only  a 
few  weeks  ?  It  seemed  like  years. 

The  doctor  asked  many  questions,  and  made 
Harold  repeat  every  word  of  the  message  his 
mother  had  sent  to  the  Virgin's  tree. 

"I  see  the  same  hand  back  of  this,  and  the  same 
motive,"  he  murmured. 

"What  is  the  motive,  Father?" 

"To  break  up  our  work  at  Adana.  We  bring 
in  the  light,  my  boy,  the  light  of  knowledge  and 
wisdom  and  love,  and  the  Turks  hate  the  light; 
they  fear  it ;  they  will  do  anything  to  put  it  out. 
For  years  they  have  tried  to  bribe  us,  to  frighten 

321 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

us ;  they  were  even  ready  to  kill  us ;  but  they  are 
cowards,  so  they  did  this." 

"And — what  will  the  end  be?"  hesitated  the 
boy. 

There  was  a  glow  of  prophetic  vision  in  the 
missionary's  eyes  as  he  answered : 

"The  end  ?  The  end  will  be  that  our  work  will 
go  on.  The  light  will  shine.  Your  mother  and 
I  will  be  back  in  Adana  soon — soon!" 

Before  they  slept  the  father  and  son  knelt  down 
at  the  tent  door,  and,  under  the  calm  Judean  sky, 
which  seemed  brighter  and  nearer  than  usual, 
they  asked  God  to  guard  and  bless  their  dear  ab 
sent  one,  and  to  give  them  cheerfulness  and 
strength  for  the  task  and  the  trials  before 
them. 

It  was  not  until  late  in  the  afternoon  that  the 
missionary  had  a  talk  with  Lieutenant  Cherik, 
and  learned  what  it  was  that  had  changed  the 
officer  from  harshness  to  friendliness.  It  was 
simple  enough.  There  was  nothing  mysterious 
about  the  ring,  it  had  no  talisman  power,  but  it 
came  from  a  very  great  and  powerful  man,  Ab 
dul  Pasha,  to  whose  service  the  officer  was  de 
voted.  Lieutenant  Cherik  would  now  go  to 
very  unusual  lengths  to  serve  Dr.  Evans.  His 
immediate  instructions  required  him  to  take  Dr. 

322 


BLACK  EAGLES 

Evans,  overland,  to  a  prison  near  Damascus, 
where  the  American  was  to  be  left. 

"By  whose  orders?"  asked  the  doctor. 

Lieutenant  Cherik  did  not  know.  The  orders 
had  come  to  the  Jerusalem  garrison.  Then  these 
orders  must  be  carried  out?  They  must  still  go 
to  Damascus?  Yes,  they  must  certainly  go  to 
Damascus,  and  they  must  start  immediately,  or 
suspicion  would  be  aroused.  Furthermore,  in  the 
future,  the  relations  between  Lieutenant  Cherik 
and  his  supposed  prisoners  must  be  as  brief  and 
businesslike  as  possible. 

All  of  this  having  been  explained  to  the  boys, 
and  certain  preliminary  arrangements  having 
been  made  (including  the  transferring  of  Dr. 
Evans's  effects  from  Mar  Saba),  the  expedition 
set  forth  toward  Jerusalem,  although  it  was  un 
derstood  that  they  would  turn  off  to  the  north 
before  reaching  the  Holy  City. 

As  they  rode  along,  Dr.  Evans  asked  Harold 
and  Jack  to  describe  their  experiences  in  the 
Dead  Sea  valley,  and  he  told  them  various  inter 
esting  things  about  this  strange  region.  In  for 
mer  centuries,  he  said,  there  was  much  big  game 
here,  the  lion,  the  bison,  and  the  hippopotamus, 
but  these  animals  had  all  become  extinct.  Speak 
ing  of  the  extreme  saltness  of  the  Dead  Sea,  the 

323 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

doctor  mentioned  that,  while  a  hundred  pounds 
of  ordinary  sea-water  yield  six  pounds  of  salt 
on  evaporation,  a  hundred  pounds  of  Dead  Sea 
water  yield  twenty-five  pounds  of  salt.  That  is 
why  no  fish  can  live  there. 

"Father,"  asked  Harold,  presently,  "are  they 
going  to  send  this  whole  company  of  soldiers 
with  us  all  the  way  to  Damascus  ?" 

"Oh,  no.  The  lieutenant  tells  me  he  will  keep 
only  six  or  seven  men  after  to-morrow  morning. 
The  reason  they  sent  so  many  was  on  account  of 
the  Bedouins.  How  happy  we  ought  to  be  that 
we  did  not  consent  to  any  shooting!" 

A  little  later,  Jack  announced  that  he  had  a 
question  to  ask.  "As  I  understand  it,  sir,  this 
Lieutenant  Cherik  is  going  back  on  his  orders. 
He 's  treating  us  like  gentlemen,  whereas  he 
started  out  by  treating  us  like  dogs,  and  that 's 
what  he  's  supposed  to  do.  Am  I  right  ?" 

"Yes,  you  're  about  right,"  agreed  the  doctor. 

"Well,  how  do  you  know  that  some  of  these 
soldiers  that  he  sends  back  to  Jerusalem  to-mor 
row  morning  won't  give  the  \vhole  thing  away?" 

Dr.  Evans  said  that  there  was  only  a  slight 
chance  of  this  happening,  for  the  reason  that 
Turkish  soldiers  have  scarcely  any  feeling  of 
duty  or  loyalty  toward  the  government,  which  is 

324 


BLACK  EAGLES 

really  a  corrupt  machine  of  plunder  and  oppres 
sion. 

"They  'd  he  afraid  of  getting  themselves  into 
trouble,  wouldn't  they?"  put  in  Harold. 

"Exactly." 

That  night  they  camped  in  some  thatched  mud 
houses  on  high  ground  about  seven  miles  to  the 
northeast  of  Jerusalem,  and  early  the  next  morn 
ing,  with  an  escort  of  only  six  soldiers,  the  little 
company  reached  the  great  highway  of  the  Bible 
that  runs  north  and  south  from  Bethlehem  to 
Galilee,  and  that  would  start  them  on  their  jour 
ney  to  Damascus.  Soon  they  found  themselves 
advancing  through  a  less  rugged  and  more  ver 
dant  region,  rolling  hills  spread  with  silver-tinged 
olive  groves,  broad  fields  of  grain  and  sesame, 
rich  pastures  sprinkled  with  thousands  of  bril 
liant  poppies,  and  grazed  over  by  flocks  of  fat 
sheep,  as  in  the  days  of  David. 

At  about  ten  o'clock  they  passed  by  the  famous 
meeting  place  of  David  and  Jonathan  and  here 
the  boys  stirred  up  a  flock  of  red-tailed  thrushes. 
A  little  later  they  came  to  a  typical  Syrian  vil 
lage  with  flat-roofed  mud  houses.  Here  they 
found,  in  pleasant  contrast  to  its  filthy  surround 
ings,  a  spic-span  American  school  with  flowers 
all  about  it  where  little  native  girls  are  taught 

325 


BLACK  EAGLES 

cleanliness  and  godliness  by  sweet-mannered 
women  from  New  England.  Dr.  Evans  was 
warmly  welcomed  by  these  ladies  who  showed  the 
visitors  through  the  school  rooms  and  had  the 


Typical   Syrian  village,  showing  mud  houses  and 
minaret  of  mosque. 

pupils  sing  in  shrill  unison  one  of  their  quaint 
native  songs. 

McGreggor  was  much  amused  when  a  little 
Fellaheen  girl  of  nine  with  whip-cord  braids  down 
her  back,  stepped  forward  and,  in  a  piping  voice, 
read  an  original  composition  on  the  mouse.  The 
composition  was  as  follows : 

327 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

THE  MOUSE 
BY  HAIGAZOON  TAKENTLIAN 

There  are  good  and  bad  animals  in  the  world.  Of  the 
bad  animals  one  is  a  mouse.  This  animal  is  very  diligent 
and  very  wily.  If  he  sees  a  cat  he  hides  some  place.  He 
has  four  feet,  a  tail  and  two  bright  eyes.  This  animal 
is  very  bad.  If  you  put  some  bread  or  something  any 
place  he  smells  it  and  carries  it  to  another  place.  And 
if  you  should  go  any  place  after  your  return  to  the 
house  you  could  not  find  anything  in  the  box. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !"  laughed  Jack.  "You  could  n't 
find  anything  in  the  box.  I  '11  bet  you  could  n't. 
Say,  I  must  have  a  copy  of  that  composition.  I  '11 
send  it  home  to  the  Governor." 

After  this  two  hours  of  fairly  hard  riding 
brought  the  travelers  to  the  ruined  site  of  Bethel 
where  they  had  luncheon,  and  then,  at  the  sug 
gestion  of  Lieutenant  Cherik,  rested  in  the  shade 
until  the  great  heat  was  over.  Jack  explored 
an  enormous  cistern  near  by  while  Harold  re 
mained  with  his  father  who  pointed  out  that  this 
was  said  to  be  the  spot  where  Jacob  slept  and 
dreamed  that  he  saw  a  ladder  reaching  up  to 
Heaven. 

Whether  it  was  the  suggestion  of  this  familiar 
story  or  the  result  of  natural  fatigue,  the  mis- 

328 


BLACK  EAGLES 

sionary  presently  leaned  back  against  an  olive- 
tree  and,  with  a  long  sigh,  closed  his  eyes. 

Noticing  this,  Harold  picked  up  a  book  and 
began  to  read,  turning  the  pages  carefully  so  as 
to  avoid  making  any  noise.  A  moment  later, 
however,  he  saw  that  his  father's  eyes  were  open, 
and  were  fixed  on  the  far  horizon  with  a  strange 
eager  look,  as  if  the  doctor  saw  something  or  was 
thinking  of  something  that  filled  him  with  intense 
happiness.  Harold  searched  the  peaceful  pano 
rama  for  any  cause  of  these  joyful  emotions,  but 
he  could  find  nothing. 

Suddenly  as  the  boy  wondered  at  this,  his 
father's  face  contracted,  his  eyelids  narrowed, 
and  the  radiant  expression  gave  place  to  one  of 
distress  and  alarm.  This  continued  for  perhaps 
half  a  minute,  after  which,  with  another  sigh, 
which  seemed  to  express  joy  or  resignation,  the 
missionary  closed  his  eyes,  and  again  rested 
against  the  olive-tree. 

For  some  minutes  Sandy  Evans  puzzled  over 
this  singular  occurrence.  Was  his  father  awake 
or  not  awake?  Should  he  speak  of  the  matter 
to  him  or  not  speak  of  it?  He  had  just  decided 
that  it  was  only  a  sign  of  nervous  fatigue  and 
might  as  well  be  left  unmentioned,  when  the  doc 
tor  stirred  uneasily,  then  roused  himself  in  quite 

329 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

a  natural  way,  and  sat  up  exactly  as  one  does 
after  taking  a  nap. 

"Ah  !  My  boy  !"  said  the  missionary,  with  his 
usual  cheery  smile. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  sleep,  Father?1'  asked 
Harold. 

"Why — did  I  go  to  sleep?" 

"Didn't  you?" 

The  doctor  paused  as  if  to  collect  himself,  and 
it  seemed  to  Harold  that  he  caught  just  the  shade 
of  a  startled,  puzzled  look  in  the  older  man's 
eyes. 

"I  have  not  been  asleep,"  he  said,  quietly,  and 
that  ended  the  incident  for  the  moment. 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  however,  as  the  father 
and  son  were  riding  on,  with  the  purple  shadows 
of  the  Samarian  hills  lengthening  about  them, 
Dr.  Evans  said  seriously,  "Flarold,  there  is  some 
thing  I  must  say  to  you." 

"Yes,  Father." 

"It  is  about  that  ring,  the  one  that  saved  us  so 
wonderfully.  You  have  it?  You  have  kept  it 
carefully?" 

"Of  course.     Shall  I  give  it  back  to  you  ?" 

"No,  no,  but — guard  it,  my  son,  as  your  most 
precious  treasure.  Don't  carry  it  loose  in  your 
pocket.  Strap  it  securely  in  your  money  belt. 

330 


BLACK  EAGLES 

"When  you  get  to  Damascus,  everything  may  de 
pend  upon  your  having  this  ring." 

There  was  something  in  his  father's  tone  that 
vaguely  alarmed  the  boy. 

"But,  Father,  why  do  you  say  when  7  get  to 
Damascus?  We  will  he  there  together;  we  will 
do  everything  together,  won't  we?" 

The  missionary's  face  was  still  grave  as  he  re 
plied:  "I  hope  and  pray  that  we  shall,  my  boy. 
W^e  have  been  marvelously  guided  and  protected 
so  far,  and  things  seem  to  be  going  well  with  us, 
but — we  never  can  be  sure  how  God  will  work 
out  His  great  purposes.  It  might  be,  it  may  be, 
that  you  and  I,  my  son,  wrill  be  separated  again." 

"Father,  why  do  you  look  so — so  solemn?" 
cried  Harold.  "What  is  it?  W'hat  has  hap 
pened?" 

"Something  very  strange,  my  son,"  answered 
the  missionary;  "something  that  makes  me  happy 
and — sad." 

"Yes,  yes.     Go  on!" 

"You  remember  when  we  were  resting  under 
the  olive-trees  this  afternoon  and  you  asked  if  I 
had  been  asleep  ?" 

"Yes,  Father." 

"T  told  you  I  was  not  asleep.  That  was  true, 
but — /  ivas  not  a^vake,  cither." 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Harold  stared,  feeling  sure  that  he  had  misun 
derstood  his  father's  words. 

"Not  awake?"  he  repeated.  "You  mean  you 
were  asleep  ?" 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "No.  And  I  was 
not  awake  in  the  ordinary  sense.  /  was  more 
tli an  awake.  Listen,  my  boy.  When  a  man  has 
spent  ten  months  on  a  barren  rock  looking  out 
on  a  dead  wilderness,  he  learns  things  that  are 
not  in  the  books.  He  learns  to  think  differently, 
more  intensely;  he  learns  to — to  think  with  his 
soul,  if  I  may  so  express  it.  And  the  soul  has 
powers,  Harold,  as  little  known  as  wireless  teleg 
raphy  was  known  a  few  years  ago." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  nodded  the  boy. 

"For  thousands  of  years,"  continued  Dr. 
Evans,  "the  Dead  Sea  valley,  where  I  was,  has 
been  the  home  and  the  tomb  of  silent  men  who 
learned  to  think  with  their  souls,  and — I  can't 
explain  it,  but — these  men  left  behind  them  more 
than  the  dry  bones  and  skulls  that  line  their 
caves." 

Harold  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  "You  don't 
mean — " 

"Yes,  dozens  of  them;  but  that  is  not  impor 
tant.  How  can  I  say  it  simply  ?  You  know  what 
a  storage  battery  is  ?  Can  you  imagine  a  spir- 

332 


BLACK  EAGLES 

itual  storage  battery?  I  have  felt — in  fact  I 
know  that  the  great  Mar  Saba  gorge,  so  deep  and 
silent,  is  such  a  gathering  place  of  spiritual 
power.  It  must  be  so.  It  was  this  power  all 
about  me  that  strengthened  my  prayers  and 
quickened  my  vision  so  that — I  could  speak  to 
your  mother's  soul." 

"And — that  was  how  I  found  you — because 
Mother  got  your  message?"  marveled  Harold. 

"Yes,  my  boy.  And  it  may  be  that  God  will 
lead  you  to  your  mother  in  the  same  way.  I  say 
this  because,  for  the  first  time,  such  a  message, 
or  vision,  has  come  to  me.  It  came  while  we 
were  there  under  the  olive-trees." 

Harold  was  listening  with  absorbed  attention. 
"Go  on,  Father.  Please  go  on." 

With  the  utmost  confidence,  Dr.  Evans  pro 
ceeded  :  "We  are  to  see  your  mother  in  Damas 
cus,  my  boy.  We  are  to  see  her  in  a  great  white- 
and-gold  room  with  white-and-gold  columns. 
There  are  red  curtains  between  the  columns  and 
black  eagles  guarding  the  door.  I  saw  your 
mother  beckoning  to  us  from  this  room,  but  we 
could  not  go  to  her  because  the  eagles  stopped 
us." 

"That  was  a  dream,"  protested  Harold. 

"No,  it  was  not  a  dream.     It  was  very  different 

333 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

from  a  dream.  And,  listen!  When  everything 
had  failed  and  we  were  quite  discouraged,  you 
did  something,  my  boy,  I  can't  remember  what  it 
was,  but  immediately  the  eagles  flew  away,  and 
the  doors  opened,  and  the  red  curtains  were 
drawn,  and  we  went  into  the  white-and-gold  room 
where  your  mother  was." 

"Where  is  this  white-and-gold  room?"  thrilled 
the  boy. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "I  only  know  that 
it  is  in  Damascus.  Wrait !  I  saw  more  than  that. 
I  saw  you  and  Jack  and  Deeny  walking  along  a 
narrow  street  You  were  in  great  trouble,  and 
Jack  was  weak  and  ill." 

"But  you,  Father?     Weren't  you  with  us?" 

"No,  I  was  not  with  you,  and — that  is  wrhy  I 
fear  we  are  to  be  separated.  If  this  happens, 
Harold,  I  charge  you  to  go  to  Damascus  with  all 
speed.  You  won't  forget  or  fail,  my  boy?" 

"I  won't  forget  or  fail,"  replied  Harold,  ear 
nestly.  Then  he  added,  with  an  odd  little  smile, 
"I  wish  you  could  remember  what  it  was  that  I 
did  to  make  those  black  eagles  fly  away." 


334 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    GREAT    HIGHWAY 

IN  spite  of  Dr.  Evans's  forebodings,  all  went 
well  with  the  travelers  during-  their  journey 
northward  along  the  great  highway.  Lieutenant 
Cherik  continued  to  treat  his  prisoners  with  the 
utmost  consideration.  He  allowed  them  to  select 
their  own  camping  places  at  night  and  resting- 
places  through  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  even  to 
make  short  detours  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
spots  made  historic  by  the  Bible  story.  So  long 
as  they  reached  Damascus  on  the  eighth  day,  the 
officer  would  be  satisfied;  they  might  lay  out  the 
journey  as  they  pleased.  Nor  was  any  check  put 
upon  Jack  McGreggor's  picture-taking  activities. 
"Say,  Sandy,  this  gentleman-prisoner  business 
is  great!"  declared  Jack.  "Dandy  horses,  the 
best  stuff  to  eat,  five  soldiers  to  take  care  of  us, 
and  it  does  n't  cost  us  a  cent !  Think  what  this 
means  in  our  scheme !  Why,  it 's  the  chance  of 
our  lives !  Here  's  your  father  choke-full  of  in 
formation  about  the  country,  and  here  we  are 

335 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

with  a  little  corker  of  a  moving-picture  machine, 
the  first  one  that  ever  blew  across  the  Jordan ! 
Bet  you  we  get  two  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
films  before  we  strike  Damascus !  Two  thousand 
is  putting  it  low." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Sandy;  "that  is  to  say,  I  sup 
pose  you  know  about  moving  pictures,  but— 
he  was  thinking  of  the  strange  vision,  or  mes 
sage,  that  had  come  to  his  father  under  the  old 
olive-tree. 

"There  's  no  'but'  about  it,"  replied  McGreg- 
gor,  briskly.  "We  're  headed  for  a  big  success- 
straight  for  it.  We  're  the  boys  who  land  the 
thing  we  go  after.  Yes,  sir !  Did  n't  we  go  after 
your  father  ?  And  now  it 's  money — a  barrel  of 
it !  Why,  the  vaudeville  houses  will  go  crazy 
over  the  stuff  we  Ve  got  already.  And  wait  till 
we  strike  some  of  these  new  places —  What 's 
that  town  where  the  witch  used  to  live?" 

"The  witch?     Oh,  the  witch  of  Endor?" 

"That's  it.  We're  going  there;  your  father 
said  so." 

Jack  had  conceived  a  profound  respect  for  Dr. 
Evans,  who,  the  boy  discovered,  knew  all  about 
birds  and  animals  and  wild  flowers,  and  could 
tell  thrilling  stories  of  his  adventures  in  hunting 
the  wild  boar,  and  fighting  Asiatic  cholera,  and 

336 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

saving  wretched  Armenians  during  the  massacre 
at  Aclana. 

"Why,  he  can  do  anything,  your  governor 
can!"  McGreggor  decided  enthusiastically;  "and 
he  seems  to  know  about  everything.  For  a  mis 
sionary  he — he  's  a  peach !" 

"I  knew  you  'd  like  him,"  smiled  Sandy. 

Although  the  boys  had  been  in  the  Holy  Land 
for  weeks,  it  was  only  now,  in  talks  with  Dr. 
Evans  as  they  rode  along,  that  Jack  got  his  first 
clear  idea  of  Palestine  as  a  whole.  What  a  little 
place  it  was,  considering  its  great  importance  in 
the  world!  New  York  State  would  divide  up 
into  five  Palestines,  said  the  doctor,  and  North 
Dakota  into  ten,  and  Texas  into  thirty.  New 
Jersey  was  about  as  large  as  this  whole  theater 
of  Bible  history.  New  Jersey! 

And  what  extraordinary  contrasts  in  climate 
were  here  in  this  tiny  land!  Palestine!  A 
rugged  strip  between  ocean  and  desert — salt 
water  breezes  meeting  the  parched  and  withering 
sirocco !  Palestine !  With  the  glistening  peaks 
of  Mount  Hermon  on  its  northern  border,  where 
the  snow-fields  never  melt,  then,  stretching  away 
to  the  south,  the  Jordan  valley,  deepest  fissure 
in  the  earth's  surface,  far  below  the  level  of  the 
sea,  with  palms  and  orange  groves  and  tropical 

337 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

vegetation,  one  of  the  hottest  places  in  the  world ! 
Jack  thrilled  with  newly  awakened  interest  as  the 
doctor  described  all  this. 

They  camped  one  night  near  Jacob's  Well  and 
Joseph's  tomb,  in  the  historic  valley  between 
Mount  Ebal  and  Mount  Gerizim,  and  here  it  was 
that  the  boys  met  (and  photographed)  a  Moslem 
wedding  procession,  and  watched  the  bride,  her 
head  covered  with  strings  of  silver  coins,  as  she 
threw  handfuls  of  corn  to  the  birds,  according  to 
native  custom,  and  then  anointed  the  stones  of  the 
well  with  butter  to  keep  off  evil  spirits. 

They  also  witnessed  the  ceremony  when  the 
priest  said  to  the  bridegroom  (Dr.  Evans  trans 
lating)  :  "I  now  give  thee  this  wife  in  subjection. 
Wilt  thou  be  her  master  ?" 

And  the  man  said:  "With  the  help  of  God  I 
will." 

Then  the  priest  asked  the  woman:  "Wilt 
thou  be  obedient  to  him?" 

And  she  replied:  "I  am  obedient  according 
to  the  order  of  Allah."  Which  caused  Jack  to 
remark  that  this  was  no  place  for  a  suffragette. 

The  next  morning  they  passed  by  the  ruined 
columns  of  Samaria,  all  that  is  left  of  Herod's 
splendid  palace,  and  were  startled  here  to  see  a 
wild  looking  man  strolling  about  unconcernedly 

338 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

among  the  villagers  with  scarcely  a  shred  of 
clothing.  Dr.  Evans  explained  that  this  man  was 
crazy  and  it  is  a  Moslem  superstition  that  a 
crazy  man  must  be  allowed  to  go  and  come  -as  he 
pleases,  nor  must  any  one  interfere  with  him,  lest 
he  cast  the  evil  eye. 

Again,  they  camped  among  the  date-palms  and 
orange  groves  of  Jenin,  where  Jehu  raced  his 
chariot  and  horses,  and  smote  Ahaziah.  And  the 
next  day  they  crossed  the  wonderful  plain  of 
Esdraelon,  carpeted  with  rich  greens  and  abun 
dant  flowers,  and  cut  through  by  the  silver  thread 
of  the  river  Kishon.  Here,  said  the  missionary, 
were  things  worth  seeing  and  thinking  about. 
On  yonder  slope  to  the  east  lay  Cana  of  Galilee. 
There  to  the  north,  hidden  by  purple  hills,  was 
Nazareth.  And  that  round-topped  mountain  at 
the  edge  of  the  plain,  there  where  the  griffin  vul 
tures  and  golden  eagles  were  soaring,  was  Mount 
Tabor,  the  scene  of  a  famous  battle  between 
French  and  Moslems,  when  the  latter,  in  spite  of 
superior  numbers,  were  overcome  by  a  trick  of 
the  great  Napoleon. 

What  Sandy  Evans  remembered  most  distinctly 
about  Cana  and  Galilee  was  the  fact  that  he  got 
about  a  million  thorns  in  his  trousers  in  brush 
ing  against  a  tall  cactus  hedge.  And  what  Jack 

339 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 


remembered  about  Nazareth  (after  they  had  left 
it  behind)  was  its  frightfully  steep  streets,  a 
group  of  laden  camels  drinking  at  the  fountain, 
a  native  mother  with  a  baby  swung. on  her  back, 
and  the  friendliness  of  a  German  photographer, 
who  supplied  him  with  pre 
cious  materials  for  develop 
ing  his  films. 

As  they  passed  through 
the  village  of  Nain,  a  miser 
able  cluster  of  mud  hovels, 
the  boys  had  an  adven 
ture  that  might  easily  have 
ended  seriously.  They  had 
stopped  to  take  a  picture  of 
what  was  pointed  out  as  the 
widow's  house,  now  scarcely 
more  than  a  heap  of  stones, 
and,  while  Jack  busied  him 
self  with  the  kodak,  Harold 
searched  about  for  some  in 
teresting  souvenir  of  this 
sacred  place.  Suddenly,  as  he  climbed  along  the 
ruined  wall,  he  came  upon  a  snake  coiled  in  the 
sun. 

"I  say,  Jack,  here  's  a  snake,"  he  called.     "I  'm 
going  to  take  a  shot  at  him."     And,  drawing  his 

340 


Nazareth    mother    carry 
ing  baby  on  her  back. 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

revolver,  he  fired  at  the  ugly  creature  from  a  dis 
tance  of  about  ten  feet. 

"Huh !  You  're  a  fine  shot !"  laughed  McGreg- 
gor.  as  the  snake  wriggled  away  and  disappeared 
between  two  large  stones  in  the  wall. 


Nazareth  boys  racing  for  prize. 

"I  '11  get  him  out,"  said  Evans.  ''Ah !  see  his 
tail.  Come  out  here,  Mr.  Snake.  There!  I 
told  you  I  'd  get  him." 

As  he  spoke,  Harold  seized  the  projecting  tail, 
and,  with  a  quick  movement,  snapped  the  snake 
out  upon  the  ground.  What  would  have  hap- 

341 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

pened  next  can  never  be  known,  for  Dr.  Evans 
arrived  at  that  moment,  and  killed  the  angry  rep 
tile  with  a  stick.  Then  he  turned  to  the  boys. 

" You  don't  know  what  you  're  doing !"  he  said 
quietly ;  but  they  saw  that  his  face  was  pale. 

"Why,  Father,  he  's  only  a  little  fellow.  He 
is  n't  over  two  feet  long." 

"A  little  fellow!"  answered  the  missionary. 
"Do  you  see  that  flat  head?  He  's  a  viper,  one  of 
the  most  deadly  in  the  East !" 

That  night,  they  pitched  their  tents  on  a  bare 
hillside  near  the  historic  village  of  Endor,  and 
here  they  discovered  many  caves  in  the  rock  such 
as  that  in  which  the  old  witch  must  have  dwelt  in 
the  days  of  Saul.  In  one  of  these  caves  they 
killed  a  great  bat  that  measured  twenty  inches 
across  the  wings,  a  rare  specimen,  Dr.  Evans  told 
them.  And  in  the  village  they  found  a  hideous 
old  crone  who  might  have  passed  for  the  witch 
herself,  but  who  proved  to  be  a  kind-hearted  per 
son  and  sold  them  delicious  honey  that  came  from 
a  hive  made  from  large  tubes  of  sun-dried  mud, 
scores  of  these  tubes  being  piled  horizontally  in  a 
pyramid  and  the  whole  covered  over  with  mud 
and  branches. 

"That 's  the  queerest  looking  bee-hive  I  ever 
342 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

saw,"  declared  Jack.     "I  '11  just  snap  it  for  our 
collection." 

The  travelers  had  now  completed  half  their 
journey  to  Damascus  and  no  harm  had  hefallen 
them.  The  fifth  day  brought  them  to  the  ruined 
cities  that  fringe  the  northern  shore  of  the  Sea  of 


The  Lake  of  Galilee. 

Tiberias,  or  Galilee.  On  the  sixth  day,  they 
forded  the  Jordan,  with  a  company  of  Moslem 
pilgrims,  and  turned  to  the  north  toward  the 
snow-covered  heights  of  Mount  Hermon  that  lay 
straight  before  them,  a  long  day's  journey. 
And  one  day  more  would  bring  them  to  Da 
mascus. 

343 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"I  don't  believe  there  's  going  to  be  any  trou 
ble,  Father,"  remarked  Harold,  confidently. 

"I  hope  not,  my  son,"  replied  the  missionary; 
"but  remember  what  I  told  you.  It 's  just  as  well 
to  be  prepared." 


Pilgrims  fording  the  Jordan. 

"I  '11  remember,"  said  the  boy,  and  he  thought 
again  of  those  mysterious  black  eagles. 

A  little  later,  Harold  took  the  precious  ring 
from  his  money  belt  and  put  it  on  his  third 
finger.  Finding  that  it  fitted  snugly,  he  decided 
to  wear  it. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  seventh  day,  the  com 
pany  found  themselves  approaching  the  outlying 

344 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

hills  of  the  long  Jebel  Sunnin  range,  white  with 
snow,  ahove  which  mighty  Hermon  rears  its 
majestic  head.  They  decided  to  rest  for  an  hour 
in  an  apricot  orchard,  and  the  boys,  stretched  on 
the  ground,  were  just  beginning  to  enjoy  them 
selves  under  trees  bending  with  golden  fruit, 
when  Jack  espied  a  caravan  coming  down  the 
mountain.  It  w^as  a  caravan  of  pilgrims  from 
Damascus,  Deeny  said,  on  its  way  to  Mecca,  that 
most  sacred  city  of  the  Moslems  into  which  no 
Christian  may  penetrate.  In  an  instant,  the 
young  Americans  were  on  their  feet,  fired  with 
the  same  idea.  Here  was  a  picture  worth  taking. 
A  caravan  of  pilgrims  going  to  Mecca ! 

A  few  words  of  explanation  gave  the  young 
photographers  permission  to  ride  ahead  and  try 
to  secure  this  coveted  film.  Nasr-ed-Din  went 
with  them,  and  a  rag-tag  soldier  to  look  after  a 
mule  that  carried  the  picture  apparatus. 

"We  '11  have  to  be  everlastingly  foxy  about 
this,"  cautioned  Sandy,  as  they  rode  forward. 
"You  know  these  pilgrims  object  to  having  their 
pictures  taken." 

"They  '11  never  know  it,"  said  McGreggor. 
"We  '11  lie  in  ambush  for  'em,  have  the  machine 
set  up  in  the  bushes  so  they  won't  notice  it,  and 
grind  the  thing  out  as  they  go  past." 

345 


Hurrying  on,  the  boys  selected  a  spot  where  the 
road  turned  sharply  and  where  a  cluster  of  olean 
ders  on  rising  ground  gave  them  exactly  the 
vantage-point  they  needed.  In  a  couple  of  min 
utes  Jack's  deft  ringers  had  the  apparatus  ready, 
and  Harold  stood  eager  to  help. 

''Tell  Deeny  to  keep  that  mule  still !"  said  Mc- 
Greggor,  for  the  animal,  annoyed  by  Syrian  flies, 
was  jangling  his  bells.  "Hark !  They  're  com- 
ing!" 

The  murmur  of  the  approaching  caravan  was 
now  distinctly  audible.  Dogs  barked,  men 
shouted,  and,  as  the  line  drew  nearer,  the  anxious 
watchers  could  hear  the  hoarse  grunting  of  the 
camels  under  their  heavy  loads  and  the  urging  of 
their  drivers. 

"Ready!  Start  her  up!"  whispered  Evans,  on 
a  signal  from  Nasr-ed-Din,  and  the  picture  ma 
chine  began  to  click  softly. 

A  moment  later,  the  caravan  appeared.  And 
what  a  sight  it  was !  All  the  costumes  of  the 
East  were  passing  before  them  in  review- 
Arabs,  Persians,  Turks,  Abyssinians,  black, 
white,  and  yellow,  men,  women,  and  children, 
rich  and  poor,  dignified  pashas  on  stately  drome 
daries,  half-naked  slaves  trudging  along  on  foot, 
hundreds  of  camels,  some  of  them  bearing  in  lit- 

346 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

ters  pilgrims  who  were  fat,  or  lazy,  or  sick,  sol 
diers  with  flashing  weapons,  horsemen  in  gay 
cloaks  and  fantastic  head-dresses,  holy  men, 
fighting  men,  dervishes,  veiled  women,  and  scores 
of  beasts  of  burden  carrying  tents  and  boxes  and 
provisions  for  the  long  journey  through  the 
Arabian  desert. 

At  one  moment,  there  came  a  pause  in  the  ad 
vance,  whereupon  three  of  the  dervishes,  wearing 
black  hats  shaped  like  flower-pots,  and  tight-fit 
ting  white  robes,  began  a  strange  whirling  dance 
that  went  faster  and  faster,  until,  presently, 
they  were  spinning  on  their  toes  like  three  human 
tops. 

When  it  was  all  over  and  the  last  straggler 
had  passed  on,  Jack  sank  back  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"Say,  Sandy,  I  want  to  tell  you  that 's  some 
picture!"  he  declared.  "It's  worth  a  thousand 
dollars,  if  it 's  worth  a  cent.  Why,  those  whirl 
ing  dervishes  alone  are  worth  five  hundred!" 

Moving  along  the  mountain  side  the  boys  came 
to  a  deep  gorge  at  the  bottom  of  which  a  rapid 
stream  tumbled  over  black  rocks.  Jack  walked 
to  the  edge  of  this  gorge  and  looked  down. 
About  forty  feet  below  them  on  the  opposite  side 
there  jutted  out  a  broad  shoulder  of  ground 

347 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

spread  over  with  boulders  of  various  shapes  and 
sizes.  The  sight  of  these  gave  Jack  an  idea. 

"Sandy,"  he  called.  "Look!  See  that  yellow 
rock  down  there  ?  Bet  you  a  quarter  I  can  chuck 
a  stone  and  hit  it  before  you  can." 

Harold  picked  up  a  stone  and,  throwing  it 
carelessly,  hit  the  rock  squarely. 

"Good  shot!  I  owe  you  a  quarter.  Try  an 
other." 

"You  don't  owe  me  a  quarter." 

"Sure  I  do.  We  were  throwing  for  a  quarter. 
If  I  had  won  you  'd  have  paid  me,  would  n't 
you?" 

This  placed  Harold  in  a  difficult  position  and 
the  end  of  it  was  that  they  threw  at  the  rock  three 
times  more  for  a  quarter  a  throw.  And  Jack 
won,  three  times  in  succession. 

"It 's  a  silly  game/'  said  Sandy. 

"It  takes  skill  just  the  same.  Ah,  there  she 
goes !"  cried  Jack  as  his  stone  crashed  against  the 
rock  and  broke  into  pieces.  "Go  on !" 

"Oh,  well,  I  can  hit  it  if  I  want  to.  There!" 
Harold  missed,  however,  and  owed  Jack  seventy- 
five  cents. 

"Throw  you  once,  double  or  quits,"  proposed 
McGreggor. 

Sandy's  face  was  flushed.  He  had  never 
348 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

gambled  in  his  life,  but  he  could  not  resist  Jack's 
challenge  and,  aiming  carefully,  he  threw  again 
— and  lost. 

"A  dollar  and  a  half !"  chuckled  Jack. 

Now  the  boys  were  fairly  caught  by  the  spirit 
of  hazard  and  for  twenty  minutes  they  continued 
this  foolish  pastime  while  Nasr-ed-Din  slumbered 
peacefully  under  a  neighboring  tamarisk  tree. 
At  the  end  of  this  time  Harold's  indebtedness 
had  increased  to  four  dollars  and  a  half. 

"Double  or  quits  again  ?"  said  Jack.  "Are  you 
game  ?" 

Evans  hesitated.  His  conscience  was  troub 
ling  him,  but  he  was  drawn  by  the  world-old  lure 
of  gambling.  Besides,  he  could  not  afford  to 
lose  four  dollars  and  a  half. 

"I  never  did  anything  like  this  before,  but,  as 
long  as  we  've  started — all  right,  I  '11  go  you — 
once  more — for  the  last  time." 

Again  they  threw  and  again  Harold  lost. 

"Nine  dollars,"  said  Jack. 

And  now  came  a  quarter  of  an  hour  that  neither 
boy  forgot  to  the  end  of  his  days,  so  vividly  did  it 
impress  upon  each  the  power  and  the  harm 
of  gambling.  Instead  of  stopping,  as  they  had 
agreed  to,  the  boys  threw  five  times  more,  double 
or  quits  (by  this  time  they  had  lost  all  sense 

349 


of  values),  and  fives  times  in  succession,  by  skill 
or  luck  or  fate,  John  McGreggor  was  the  first 
to  score.  And  his  winnings  increased  amazingly ; 
eighteen,  thirty-six,  seventy-two,  one  hundred 
and  forty-four,  two  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
dollars. 

"Jack,"  said  Harold  in  awe-struck  tones.  "I 
owe  you  two  hundred  and  eighty-eight  dollars!" 

"Gosh!"  marveled  McGreggor.  "And  five 
hundred  for  my  share  of  those  pictures — the  der 
vishes  and  pilgrims — that 's  seven  hundred  and 
eighty-eight  for  the  day.  Pretty  fair  business! 
If  I  could  keep  that  up — say  for  a  hundred 
days—" 

But  Harold's  face  was  white.  "This  is  not  a 
joke,"  he  said.  "I  owe  you  that  money.  We 
were  playing  for  fair — weren't  we?" 

McGreggor  began  to  feel  sorry  as  he  saw  his 
friend's  distress. 

"It  was  only  a  sort  of  a  game,"  he  stammered, 
but  Evans  came  straight  to  the  point. 

"If  you  had  lost  you  would  have  paid  me, 
would  n't  you  ?" 

"Why— er— " 

"Would  you  have  paid  me  or  not?"  the  boy 
demanded. 

"Yes,  I  would." 

350 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

"Then  I  Ve  got  to  pay  you  and — I  don't  know 
how  I  'm  going  to  do  it.  I  have  n't  got  two  hun 
dred  and  eighty-eight  dollars  in  the  world." 

"Pshaw !  You  don't  have  to  worry  about  that, 
besides — "  Here  Jack  had  a  sudden  inspiration, 
born  of  generosity.  "Besides,"  he  continued, 
"there  's  an  easy  way  to  fix  it.  All  we  have  to  do 
is  throw  at  the  old  rock  two  or  three  times  more 
and  you  '11  be  sure  to  hit  it  first.  Then  we  '11  be 
square." 

"You  mean  double  or  quits  ?" 

"Sure.  That 's  the  only  way.  Come  on ! 
You  're  a  better  shot  than  I  am.  There !  I  told 
you !"  Jack  threw  and  missed. 

This  was  Harold's  chance  and  the  temptation 
was  too  strong  for  him.  He  caught  up  a  smooth 
round  stone  about  the  size  of  a  tennis  ball  and, 
trying  his  best,  hurled  it  at  the  yellow  rock,  miss 
ing  it  by  about  an  inch. 

"Hard  luck!  We  '11  have  to  throw  off  the  tie. 
Now  then !" 

Jack  did  his  best  not  to  hit  the  rock  (without 
seeming  to  do  so)  but,  somehow,  his  calculations 
went  astray  and  he  struck  it  squarely,  while  Har 
old's  stone  flew  wide. 

There  was  a  silence  of  dismay.  Harold's 
heart  sank  to  the  depths. 

351 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Let 's  see,"  he  said  weakly.  "That  makes — 
that  makes — " 

"Never  mind  what  it  makes.  You  've  got  to 
throw  again.  You  can't  lose  all  the  time." 

"I  'm  going  to  stop,"  said  Evans. 

"You  're  crazy !  It  is  n't  fair — to  me.  I  got 
you  into  this  thing  and— 

"I  owe  you  five  hundred  and  seventy-six  dol 
lars,  Jack,"  said  Evans  solemnly,  "and  I  '11  pay 
it — sometime." 

Before  McGreggor  could  make  further  pro 
test  their  attention  was  diverted  by  a  series  of 
quick  shots  down  the  valley  that  brought  Nasr- 
ed-Din  sharply  to  his  feet. 

"Hello!     What's  that?" 

"Sounded  like  a  signal." 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other  in  alarm,  while 
Deeny  hurried  forward  to  reconnoiter. 

"We  'd  better  get  back,"  urged  Harold. 

"Wait!"  said  Jack.  "We  can't  go  like  this. 
I  '11  throw  you  once  more — double  or  quits." 

Harold  paused  and  wavered.  Then,  with 
nervous  haste,  he  picked  up  another  stone  and 
threw  it  swiftly.  This  time  it  went  straight  to 
the  mark.  And  McGreggor  missed. 

"Isn't  that  disgusting?"  mourned  Jack  (he 
really  only  pretended  to  mourn).  "There  I  was 

352 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

five  hundred  and  seventy-six  dollars  ahead! 
Say,  I  '11  go  you  again  for  a  quarter.  I  Ve  got 
to  make  a  quarter  out  of  you  anyway." 

Harold  looked  his  friend  steadily  in  the  eyes 
and  understood.  For  a  moment  he  could  hardly 
speak. 

"You — you  're  a  good  fellow,  Jack.  I  'm 
ashamed  of  myself.  I  've  done  wrong  and— 
I  've  had  my  lesson.  Now  listen  to  me.  /  'II 
never  gamble  again  as  long  as  I  live,  never! 
There  's  my  hand  on  it." 

McGreggor  coughed  to  hide  his  agitation. 
''Guess  that 's  a  good  idea,  old  boy,  and — anyhow, 
there  's  my  hand." 

In  the  loyal  clasp  that  followed  there  was 
in  each  a  precious  quickening  of  moral  fiber  and 
a  strengthening  in  the  bond  of  their  friend 
ship. 

Presently  Deeny  returned,  anxious-faced,  to 
warn  the  boys  that  something  had  happened  be 
low.  They  must  not  delay  an  instant,  and, 
mounting  their  horses  forthwith,  they  started 
down  the  mountain-side  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
Deeny  riding  first,  then  Harold  and  Jack  and 
last  the  rag-tag  soldier  on  the  jangling  mule 
with  the  picture  apparatus. 

"Say,  Sandy,"  questioned  McGreggor,  "does 

353 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Deeny  know  what  the  trouble  is?     Has  he  any 
idea?" 

Harold  shook  his  head  gloomily,  and  they  rode 
on  in  silence,  thinking  of  Dr.  Evans's  apprehen 
sions.  Was  this  the  sinister  happening  that  the 
missionary  had  feared? 

A  turn  in  the  path  presently  brought  them  to 
a  point  of  ground  whence  they  could  overlook 
the  broad  valley  beneath  them,  and  now  they  dis 
covered  that,  during  their  absence,  Lieutenant 
Cherik's  party  had  moved  forward  about  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile,  and  were  waiting  at  a  bridge  that 
crossed  a  rapid  stream.  Harold  raised  his  field- 
glasses  and  made  out  plainly  his  father,  the 
lieutenant,  and  the  five  soldiers.  They  were  on 
their  mounts  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  a  dozen 
horsemen,  powerful  fellows  in  picturesque  native 
costume,  and  all  well  armed.  Dr.  Evans  was 
talking  to  a  man  with  black  tassels  hanging 
around  his  swarthy  face,  who  seemed  to  be  a 
leader. 

Evans  rode  ahead  and  consulted  with  Deeny, 
who  nodded  reassuringly. 

"I  guess  it 's  all  right,  Jack,"  explained  Sandy. 
"They  belong  to  one  of  these  Lebanon  mountain 
tribes.  Remember?  Father  told  us  about  'em." 

"He  called  'em  scoundrels — cutthroats." 
354 


THE  GREAT  HIGHWAY 

"Not  all  of  'em.  Deeny  says  these  fellows 
probably  just  want  to  be  paid  something'  for  let 
ting  us  go  through  their  territory." 

It  turned  out  that  Nasr-ed-Din  was  correct  in 
this  opinion,  and  all  would  have  gone  well  with 
the  travelers  but  for  one  unfortunate  occurrence. 
As  the  boys  rode  up,  Dr.  Evans  had  just  ar 
ranged,  after  much  bargaining,  that  the  party 
should  pay  these  mountaineers  ten  Turkish  liras 
(something  over  forty  dollars)  for  a  safe  passage 
through  this  robber-infested  region. 

"I  have  seven  liras  here,"  explained  the  mis 
sionary,  clinking  some  gold  in  his  hand.  Lieu 
tenant  Cherik  contributed  five  and  I  had  two  my 
self,  but  these  fellows  won't  take  paper  money, 
so  we  need  three  more  liras." 

"I  Ve  got  it,"  volunteered  McGreggor. 

"No,  you  don't,"  laughed  Harold/  "This  is 
on  me.  I  'm  in  luck  not  to  owe  you  a  lot  more 
than  three  liras.  Here !"  he  took  out  his  purse, 
and,  selecting  three  shining  pieces,  handed  them 
to  the  leader. 

With  a  greedy  smile  the  tasseled  mountaineer 
received  the  gold,  and  was  just  lifting  his  hand 
in  respectful  salute,  as  if  to  say  that  the  travelers 
might  now  proceed  on  their  journey,  when  sud 
denly  his  eyes  fell  upon  Harold's  ring. 

355 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"It  sin!"  ("You  dog!")  he  cried  angrily,  and 
seizing  the  boy's  wrist,  he  studied  the  brown  seal 
with  fierce  suspicion.  Then,  spitting  scornfully 
toward  the  stone,  he  thrust  Harold  violently  from 
him,  and,  turning  to  his  followers,  gave  them 
quick  orders  in  a  cruel,  rasping  voice. 

An  hour  later  the  Americans,  closely  guarded, 
found  themselves  climbing  the  rugged  heights 
along  the  shoulder  of  Mount  Hermon.  Now  they 
were  prisoners  indeed,  their  every  move  watched 
by  stern  captors  alike  indifferent  to  threats  and 
pleadings.  And  this  tragic  change  in  their  for 
tunes  had  come  about  through  the  agency  of  the 
very  ring  that  had  saved  them  so  wonderfully  a 
few  days  before. 


356 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

NOW  things  were  going  badly  again.  Not 
only  had  the  boys  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
enemies,  but  they  found  themselves  cut  off  from 
Dr.  Evans  and  Deeny,  who,  for  some  reason, 
were  kept  under  separate  guard.  As  to  Lieu 
tenant  Cherik  and  his  soldiers,  they  were  set  con 
temptuously  at  liberty  by  the  mountaineers,  after 
being  deprived  of  weapons,  money,  and  horses. 
These  Lebanon  raiders  evidently  had  small  re 
spect  for  Turkish  authority. 

There  followed  for  the  young  Americans  five 
hours  of  painful  climbing  up  steep  and  dangerous 
ways  where  none  but  a  Syrian  horse,  sure-footed 
as  a  goat,  could  carry  his  rider.  And,  to  make 
matters  worse,  it  presently  began  to  rain. 

"A  nice  hole  we  're  in,"  grumbled  Jack,  as  his 
mount  slipped  and  stumbled  over  the  rocks. 
"That 's  a  wonderful  ring  of  yours, — I  don't 
think.  You  'd  better  give  it  to  a  museum." 

357 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"We  '11  be  glad  to  have  this  ring  when  we  get 
to  Damascus,"  insisted  Harold. 

"Huh!  When  we  get  to  Damascus!  When 
we  get  to  the  moon !  Whoa,  there !  I  '11  go 
skating  down  this  mountain  in  a  minute !  Ugh ! 
it 's  cold !" 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  hoys  reached 
an  encampment  of  black  tents,  seen  dimly  through 
the  night,  and  were  led  to  rough  bunks  on  which 
they  threw  themselves,  sad  and  weary,  and  wet 
to  the  skin. 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  they  Ve  done  with  Father 
and  Deeny,"  said  Evans  anxiously. 

"Probably  put  'em  in  another  tent,"  suggested 
Jack. 

The  next  morning  Harold  awoke  with  an  ach 
ing  body,  a  stiff  neck,  and  such  a  sore  throat 
that  he  could  not  speak  above  a  whisper.  Mc- 
Greggor,  who  was  none  the  worse  for  his  ex 
posure,  came  loyally  to  his  friend's  assistance. 

"I  '11  find  your  father  and  get  him  in  here,"  he 
said  cheerfully.  "He  '11  fix  you  up  in  no  time." 

Jack  bustled  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  but  was 
stopped  unceremoniously  by  a  keen-eyed  guard 
in  a  blue-embroidered  jacket,  who  stood  outside, 
leaning  on  a  long  rifle.  The  boy  made  vigorous 
signs  that  his  friend  in  the  tent  was  ill. 

353 


A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

"He  's  sick,  understand  ?  Malade — krank — 
Sandy !"  he  called,  "what 's  the  blooming-  Tur 
kish  word  for  sick?" 

"KhasteT  answered  Evans  weakly. 

"Khaste!  KJiaste!"  repeated  Jack  to  the 
guard,  with  expressive  gestures ;  but  the  blue- 
jacketed  one  merely  scowled  at  him,  and  would 
neither  go  himself  for  assistance  nor  allow  the 
American  to  go. 

"This  is  a  fine  way  to  treat  people !"  stormed 
Jack.  "We  have  n  't  had  any  breakfast,  and 
they  Ve  taken  all  our  stuff.  We  have  n't 
even  got  dry  clothes.  Hello ! — "  McGreggor 
stopped  abruptly,  and  stood  staring  out  through 
the  tent  door  in  evident  admiration,  while  his 
angry  frown  disappeared,  and  an  amiable  smile 
took  its  place. 

"What  is  it  ?  What  do  you  see  ?"  asked  Sandy, 
from  his  bunk. 

"Give  you  one  guess.     What  is  it  that  wears 
big  gold  hoops  in  its  ears,  and  has  melting  dark 
eyes,  and — say,  she  's  looking  at  me — she  is— 
talk  about  your  Maid  of  Athens  ere  we  part !" 

"Jack,  be  careful!"  warned  Evans.  "If  that 
guard  sees  you  making  eyes  at  a  girl — a  Turkish 
girl-" 

"He  can't  see  me.     He  's  looking  at  her  him- 

359 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

self.  Get  up,  you  antelope.  I  tell  you  she  's  a 
dream." 

The  cause  of  this  outburst  was  a  girl  of  about 
sixteen,  who  had  suddenly  appeared  outside  the 
tent  and  whose  beauty  of  face  and  figure  was 
half  revealed  through  many  veils  and  flowing 
garments.  She  stood  for  a  moment,  staring 
wonderingly  at  the  young  American;  then,  with 
a  frightened  gesture,  she  drew  her  veils  and  hur 
ried  away. 

"Bet  you  seven  dollars — no  we  don't  bet  any 
more,  but  I  Ve  got  a  hunch  that  she  's  the  chief's 
daughter,"  McGreggor  rattled  on,  "and — she's 
sorry  for  us,  and — we  '11  get  Deeny  to  talk  with 
her,  and  she  '11  intercede  with  the  old  man  and 
persuade  him  to  send  us  in  a  table  d'  note  break 
fast  and  some  clothes  and — and  then  we  '11  start 
for  Damascus." 

But  alas  for  Jack's  hopes!  No  breakfast 
came,  and  the  boys  found  their  spirits  drooping 
as  the  hours  passed  and  no  one  paid  the  slightest 
attention  to  their  needs.  About  noon,  the  guard, 
with  a  surly  air,  gave  them  a  jar  of  water  and 
some  bread  in  tough  flat  cakes — nothing  else 
until  nightfall,  at  which  time  Harold's  head  was 
throbbing  with  pain. 

"Haven't  got  any  fever,  have  you?"  Jack 
360 


A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

asked.     "Let 's   feel  your  hand.     By  Jove,   it 's 
hot,  all  right." 

"If  I  could  only  see  Father!"  mourned  Harold. 
"He  'd  give  me  quinine  or  something,  and  I  'd  be 
all  right  in  the  morning." 

The  boy  lay  silent  on  his  rough  bed  for  some 
moments,  then  he  burst  out  bitterly,  "Oh,  if  only 
I  hadn't  worn  that  ring!  If  I  had  only  kept  it 
out  of  sight !" 

McGreggor  answered  comfortingly  from  the 
other  side  of  the  tent:  "It  wasn't  your  fault. 
The  ring  got  us  out  of  a  hole  the  other  time, 
didn't  it?  It  ought  to  have  helped  us  this  time, 
only — it  did  n't.  Come,  now,  stop  worrying. 
Let 's  go  to  sleep.  Maybe  things  will  be  better 
to-morrow." 

"I  hope  so.     Good  night,  old  boy." 

"Good  night." 

For  an  hour  they  tossed  about  restlessly,  filled 
with  somber  thoughts.  Harold  lived  over  again 
in  fevered  memory  the  exciting  events  of  recent 
weeks.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  gone  through  all 
that  he  could  bear.  He  was  tired  and  weak  and 
lonely.  If  he  only  knew  where  his  mother  was ! 
If  he  could  only  speak  to  his  father!  Why  had 
these  mountaineers  separated  him  from  his 
father?  And  from  Deeny? 

361 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Can't  you  get  to  sleep,  Sandy?"  whispered 
McGreggor.  "Still  worrying?  What  about? 
Tell  me." 

Evans  tried  to  answer  cheerfully.  "Oh,  noth 
ing  special." 

"I  say,  Sandy.  Don't  forget  the  chief's  daugh 
ter.  She  '11  come  to  the  rescue  yet.  Give  her 
a  chance!" 

Scarcely  had  McGreggor  spoken  these  words, 
when  his  faith  in  the  unknown  mountain  girl  re 
ceived  startling  justification.  There  came  a 
sound  of  low  voices  outside  the  tent,  and,  a  mo 
ment  later,  Nasr-ed-Din  entered  softly,  carrying 
a  dim  lantern  and  a  basket  of  food,  while  over 
his  arm  were  various  articles  of  clothing.  The 
boys  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared  at  him. 

"Did  I  call  the  turn?"  beamed  McGreggor. 
"Did  I?" 

In  guarded  tones  the  big  Turk  explained  to  his 
young  master  what  had  happened.  It  was  really 
as  Jack  had  fancied.  The  severity  of  their  im 
prisonment  had  been  suddenly  relieved  through 
the  interest  of  the  young  girl  they  had  seen,  and 
who  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  leading  men 
of  the  band.  Her  name  was  Zahra. 

"Zahra!"  repeated  Jack,  swelling  with  pride. 
"Am  I  a  wizard?  Talk  about  your  prophets  of 

362 


N 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

olden  days !     'Zahra,  the  Bedouin's  Daughter.' ' 

"Oh,  cork  up.  Let  Deeny  go  on,"  reproved 
Harold. 

Zahra,  it  appeared  (just  as  Jack  imagined),  on 
learning  from  Nasr-ed-Din  that  one  of  the  young 
prisoners  was  ill,  had  persuaded  her  father  to 
send  them  food  and  clothing,  and  to  allow  Nasr- 
ed-Din  to  deliver  a  message  from  Dr.  Evans. 

The  missionary's  message  was  simply  a  loving 
and  encouraging  word  to  the  boys,  with  an  as 
surance  of  his  own  safety.  Harold  was  to  tell 
Nasr-ed-Din  exactly  how  he  felt,  and  Dr.  Evans 
would  send  some  medicine. 

While  Harold  was  describing  his  symptoms  to 
the  old  servant,  McGreggor  went  to  the  tent  door 
and  looked  out  into  the  night.  The  stars  were 
shining  peacefully,  and  in  the  western  sky  the 
moon  hung  like  a  copper  shield  over  the  white 
crest  of  the  mountains.  As  Jack  appeared,  the 
guard  turned  away  indifferently. 

"He 's  had  his  orders,"  reflected  the  boy. 
Then  he  looked  at  the  moon  again,  and  saw  that 
it  was  surrounded  by  two  greenish  circles. 

"Sandy,"  he  called,  "there  are  two  green  cir 
cles  around  the  moon." 

"Get  out!"  scoffed  Evans. 

"Honest,  there  are !  They  ?re  as  plain  as  any- 
364 


A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

thing.  And  right  near  us  on  the  left  there  's  a 
queer  little  white  building  with  a  round  top  to  it. 
Ask  Deeny  what  it  is." 

"He  says  it 's  the  shrine  of  a  great  Moslem 
saint,"  answered  Harold. 

"The  shrine  of  a  great  Moslem  saint!"  mused 
Jack ;  and,  for  a  long  time,  he  stood  staring  at  this 
white-washed  sepulcher  on  the  mountain-side. 
Deeny  went  away  and  came  back  with  medi 
cine,  and  then  \vent  away  again ;  Harold  dropped 
off  quietly  to  sleep,  and  still  John  McGreggor 
stood  at  the  tent  door,  frowning  and  finally  smil 
ing,  over  a  pretty  little  problem  in  tactics  that  had 
flashed  into  his  mind  there  in  the  light  of  the 
green-circled  moon. 

The  next  morning,  Harold  awoke  refreshed 
and  quite  himself  again. 

"Hello,  Jack,"  he  called.  "I  'm  right  as  a  dol 
lar.  Feeling  fine." 

McGreggor,  who  was  already  dressed,  hurried 
to  him,  lifting  a  warning  finger. 

"Sh!     You're  ill— very  ill." 

"Ill  nothing!  I  tell  you  I  'm  all  right.  That 
stuff  Father  sent  was  great.  What 's  the  matter 
with  you  anyway?" 

McGreggor  sat  down  at  his  friend's  bedside 
with  an  air  of  profound  mystery. 

365 


"Sandy,"  he  said  eagerly,  "I  Ve  got  a  great 
idea,  an  enormous  idea." 

"Some  way  to  get  five  meals  a  day  ?" 

"No,  no !  I  'm  not  joking.  I  Ve  found  a 
way  to  escape — a  sure  way — if  you  '11  help 
me." 

"A  way  to  escape — from  here?" 

"Yes,  sir.  You  Ve  had  all  the  big  ideas  so  far 
on  this  trip,  but  I  Ve  got  one  now,  and — and — 
well  it 's  a  bird !" 

Evans  sat  up  in  bed  and  studied  his  friend  with 
great  interest. 

"Deeny  and  I  talked  last  night  about  escaping, 
Jack.  He  says  it  can't  be  done." 

"I  can  do  it!" 

Sandy  shook  his  head.  "These  Lebanon  fel 
lows  have  got  us  watched  every  minute,  and 
they  're  keen  as  hawks." 

"I  don't  care  how  keen  they  are." 

"They  expect  to  make  a  lot  of  ransom  money 
out  of  us.  Deeny  says  they  sent  off  a  courier  to 
Damascus  yesterday  morning  on  a  swift  camel. 
He  watched  him  speeding  like  the  wind  across 
the  plain." 

"Fine !"  exclaimed  McGreggor.  "That  means 
waiting  here  until  the  courier  gets  back.  How 
many  days  will  it  take  him?" 

366 


A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

"Three  or  four,  Deeny  says.  Go  on.  What  Js 
your  idea?" 

"Just  a  minute.  Hear  that?"  Jack  hurried 
to  the  door  as  a  harsh  wailing  chant  sounded 


Speeding  to  Damascus  on  a  swift  camel. 

from  near  by.     "Ah!     I  thought  so.     I'm  begin 
ning  to  know  a  few  things  myself.     Look  there!" 

Harold  followed  his  friend  to  the  opening  of 
the  tent. 

"That's  nothing;  those  are  Turkish  pilgrims 
— saying  their  prayers,"  he  said. 

367 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Saying  their  prayers  before  that  shrine  of 
the  Moslem  saint.  Am  I  right?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"What  of  it?  Look  at  'em!  Look  at  those 
chaps  on  the  camels !  And  that  tall  fellow  with 
the  bare  feet  standing  on  the  prayer  rug!  And 
the  other  one  kneeling  by  the  water-bottle! 
They  believe  in  miracles  at  these  shrines,  don't 
they?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  so." 

"You  know  they  do,  Sandy." 

"All  right;  what  if  they  do?" 

"We  're  going  to  have  a  miracle  for  the  spe 
cial  benefit  of  these  Lebanon  fellows?" 

"A  miracle?     How  do  you  mean?" 

"I  '11  show  you.  In  the  first  place,  we  're  go 
ing  to  have  this  tent  moved  along  so  it 's  close 
to  the  shrine.  The  chief's  daughter  will  fix  that 
if  she  hears  you  are  very  ill,  and  want  to  be  near 
the  shrine.  Deeny  can  persuade  her  to  do  that. 
That 's  why  I  want  you  ill,  see  ?" 

"I  don't  see  how  any  of  this  helps  us  to  escape," 
objected  Sandy. 

"You  '11  see  in  a  minute.  Did  you  hear  me 
mention  last  night  that  the  moon  had  two  green 
circles  around  it?  That's  a  sign — understand? 
A  tremendous  sign." 

368 


Pilgrims  praying  at 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

"Rats !" 

"Deeny  can  tell  these  brigands  that  it 's  a  sign, 
can't  he?  It  is  a  sign  of  something — rain,  per 
haps.  They  '11  swallow  it  whole,  sure  they  will. 
Especially  the  ones  that  guard  our  tent,  and  to 
morrow  night,  at  twelve  o'clock  precisely,  we  '11 
have  'em  all  rounded  up  before  that  shrine.  Un 
derstand?" 

Harold  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  shook  his 
head  disapprovingly.  "It  '11  never  work,  Jack. 
Never  in  the  world.  I  can  see  how  our  guards 
might  be  fooled  into  leaving  us  for  a  few  min 
utes,  but  what  if  they  did  ?  We  'd  never  have 
time  to  get  away.  They  'd  come  right  back 
again." 

"No,  sir.  They  '11  never  come  back.  They  '11 
never  stop  running,  they  '11  be  so  scared." 

"What 's  going  to  scare  'em?" 

"The  thing  they  '11  see  at  the  shrine — the  mir 
acle." 

"Who  's  going  to  work  this  miracle  ?" 

"I  am,  that  is — "  Jack  paused  and  a  broad 
grin  spread  over  his  face.  "Tell  you  what  I  '11 
do,  Sandy.  If  you  're  real  good,  I  '11  let  you  turn 
the  handle." 

"Turn  the  handle?"  For  a  moment  Evans  did 
370 


A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

not  understand,  and  Jack  watched  him  with  keen 
enjoyment. 

"Yep.  The  handle  that 's  going  to  make  der 
vishes  dance  and  pilgrims  pray  and  the  whole 
caravan  circus  move  along  that  white-washed 
wall." 

Now  the  light  burst  upon  Harold. 

"Moving  pictures !"  he  cried. 

Jack  nodded.  "Moving  pictures  at  midnight 
—on  the  sacred  shrine  from  our  tent.  Say,  can 
you  beat  it?" 

Harold  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "You  can't 
do  it.  You  have  n't  got  your  films  developed." 

"I  Ve  got  the  stuff  to  develop  'em,  have  n't  I  ? 
Bought  it  in  Nazareth,  did  n't  I  ?" 

"I  know,  but—" 

"Maybe  I  'm  not  an  expert  at  this.  I  did  n't 
know  anything  about  kites,  did  I?  Say,  how 
long  do  you  think  it  '11  take  me  to  develop  that 
caravan  film?  A  week?  A  month?  If  I  don't 
do  it  in  two  hours — right  in  this  tent — I  '11  eat 
it." 

"You  have  n't  got  a  machine  to  throw  the  pic 
tures." 

Jack  smiled  condescendingly.  "No?  What 
do  you  suppose  is  packed  in  those  boxes  I  've  been 

371 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

lugging  around?  Prunes?  Spelling-books? 
Why,  that  was  part  of  my  original  scheme — to 
make  money  showing  the  pictures — sure  it  was 
— to  Chinamen,  or  Zulus,  or  Eskimos,  or  anybody 
— going  around  the  world.  That 's  why  I  got  a 
stereopticon  light-weight  attachment  with  a  port 
able  calcium-oxygen  outfit — cost  me  thirty-five 
dollars." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  you  can  develop  the  film, 
and  set  up  the  apparatus,  and  show  that  caravan 
picture — to-morrow  night?" 

"Easy — if  I  get  those  boxes.  And  we  '11  get 
'em,  if  the  gentle  Zahra  says  so — which  she  will. 
Now  let 's  hustle.  Tell  that  guard  you  want  to 
talk  to  Deeny.  And  he  '11  talk  to  the  girl ;  he  '11 
fix  it." 

"Wait!"  objected  Sandy.  "Even  if  you  do 
show  the  pictures,  these  Arabs  are  n't  fools — 
they  '11  get  on  to  it." 

"Not  in  a  million  years.  Did  n't  your  father 
say  they  're  the  most  ignorant  and  superstitious 
people  on  earth  ?  They  don't  know  how  to  read. 
They  Ve  never  heard  of  Roosevelt !  They  Ve 
got  no  more  idea  what  a  moving  picture  is  than 
— did  n't  your  father  tell  us  how  they  hang  blue 
beads  on  their  babies  and  horses  to  keep  off  the 
evil  eye?" 

372 


A  PAIR  OF  DARK  EYES 

"They  '11  see  the  light  of  the  lantern — out  of 
our  tent." 

"They  '11  never  look  at  our  tent.  They  '11  have 
their  backs  to  it — kneeling  before  the  shrine." 

"They  '11  hear  the  click  of  the  machine." 

"Not  on  your  life.  They  '11  be  howling  so 
loud,  they  won't  hear  anything.  Besides,  when 
the  pictures  start — on  the  white  tomb  of  that 
saint — why,  they  '11  be  scared  to  death.  I  tell 
you  it 's  a  cinch !  They  '11  run  like  sheep.  Can't 
you  see  'em  running?  Can't  you,  Sandy?" 


373 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

IN   DAMASCUS 

AS  McGreggor  remarked,  these  Lebanon  rob 
bers  had  never  lived  on  Broadway,  nor  had 
they  heard  of  the  marvels  worked  by  celluloid 
film  and  swift  interrupting  shutter.  Therefore 
when  Jack's  moving  picture  program  was  car 
ried  out  the  following  night  (it  went  through  to 
the  letter,  without  a  hitch)  and  the  guards, 
kneeling  devoutly  before  the  saint's  tomb,  saw 
shadowy  figures  of  men  and  women,  horses  and 
camels,  warriors  and  dervishes,  move,  as  in  life, 
across  the  white-washed  surface  of  the  shrine, 
it  was  as  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  released  the 
spirits  of  the  departed.  A  miracle!  An  awful 
portent,  and,  long  before  Jack  had  finished  his 
roll  the  brigands  were  tumbling  down  the  moun 
tain  side  with  cries  of  terror  in  a  mad  stampede 
where  everything  was  forgotten,  prisoners,  pos 
sessions,  all  but  this  one  overpowering  fact  that 
the  dead  were  rising  from  their  graves  and  the 
day  of  Judgment  had  come. 

374 


IN  DAMASCUS 

The  boys  were  quick  to  take  advantage  of  this 
general  panic  and,  gathering  up  what  was  most 
important,  they  sprang  upon  horses,  hurried  for 
ward  by  the  watchful  Nasr-ed-Din. 

"Where  is  my  father  ?  Father !"  shouted  Har 
old,  turning  anxiously  toward  the  black  tents,  but 
the  missionary  did  not  answer  or  appear. 

Nasr-ed-Din  spoke  earnestly  to  his  young  mas 
ter,  seemed  to  argue  with  him,  but  Evans  shook 
his  head  vehemently. 

"No,  no,  no!"  he  cried. 

"What  is  it?  What's  the  matter?"  asked 
Jack. 

"Deeny  says  we  must  go  on  without  Father, 
he  says  Father  wants  us  to,  but  I  won't  do  it.  I 
tell  you  I  won't  move  a  step." 

At  this  moment  the  missionary's  voice,  clear 
and  strong  sounded  from  one  of  the  tents ;  "Go ! 
Go,  my  boy !"  he  called.  "It 's  our  only  chance. 
You  must  go." 

What  had  happened  was  that  the  brigand 
chief,  less  superstitious  than  his  men,  had  not 
gone  to  pray  at  the  shrine,  but  had  remained  in 
the  tent  where  Dr.  Evans  was  a  prisoner  and  so 
had  prevented  the  missionary  from  escaping. 

"Come,  Sandy,  your  father  knows  what  is 
best,"  urged  Jack  and,  without  more  ado,  he 

375 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

struck  Evans's  horse  a  sharp  blow  across  the 
flanks,  and  a  moment  later,  the  boys  were  dash 
ing  after  Nasr-ed-Din  at  break-neck  speed  among 
the  great  Lebanon  cedars  that  lined  the  moun 
tain  slope. 

In  spite  of  the  darkness,  the  young  Americans, 
thanks  to  Nasr-ed-Din's  skilful  guidance,  made 
the  steep  descent  without  accident  or  pursuit  and, 
just  as  the  day  was  breaking,  they  came  out  upon 
the  broad  sandy  plain  that  reaches  across  to  Da 
mascus.  They  had  with  them  a  change  of  cloth 
ing,  their  revolvers  and  a  very  little  money.  All 
the  rest,  including  money-belts  (taken  by  the 
robbers)  and  picture  apparatus,  had  been  left  be 
hind  in  the  haste  of  their  departure. 

"You  Ve  got  your  old  ring  anyway,"  sniffed 
McGreggor.  "I  hope  you  're  happy." 

Evans's  face  darkened.  "How  can  I  be  happy 
with — with  my  father  back  there?"  he  said. 

"That 's  right,  old  boy.  It 's  tough — no 
doubt  about  it.  Tough  on  me,  too,  losing  all 
that  picture  stuff." 

"Looks  as  if  we  Ve  lost  about  everything  we  Ve 
got  in  the  world,"  sighed  Harold.  "Why,  we  're 
worse  off  than  when  we  started." 

"That 's  so.  Looks  as  if  our  whole  scheme 
has  busted  up." 

376 


IN  DAMASCUS 

"They  Ve  got  our  money." 

"And  our  pictures — they  're  worth—  Jack 
was  silent  a  moment,  then  he  added  solemnly: 
"Guess  it 's  four  years  of  college  for  me  with  a 
pink  ribbon  on  my  hat." 

For  an  hour  they  rode  ahead  in  gloomy  silence, 
then  Harold  spoke  in  a  different  tone. 

"Say,  Jack,  I  appreciate  all  you  Ve  done — stick 
ing  to  me  and — Father — through  all  this  trouble." 

McGreggor  answered  with  an  effort  at  gaiety : 
"Trouble  ?  Why  I  Ve  had  the  time  of  my  life. 
Never  had  so  much  fun  since  I  left  school.  Only 
it 's  spoiled  me  for  Chicago.  I  '11  have  to  hire 
somebody  to  hold  me  up  and  shoot  at  me  once 
in  a  while  or  I  won't  feel  at  home." 

The  sun  came  up  over  the  plain  in  a  glory  of 
color  and,  as  the  fresh  beauty  of  the  morning 
flashed  about  them,  the  boys  felt  again  in  their 
breasts  the  glow  of  health  and  youth. 

"After  all  it 's  good  to  be  alive  on  a  day  like 
this — in  a  place  like  this !  Eh,  Jack !"  remarked 
Harold. 

"Sure!  Say  this  sunrise  business  gets  me. 
And  a  horse !  They  're  so  strong — under  you — • 
aren't  they?  Notice  how  I  sit  straight  on  him 
and  grip  him  with  my  knees  ?  Come  on !  I  '11 
race  you." 

377 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

With  a  cluck  of  the  tongue  and  a  backward 
kick,  McGreggor  was  off  on  a  run  with  Harold 
after  him.  Side  by  side  they  raced  ahead  over 
the  vast  plain  until  Nasr-ed-Din  shouted  to  them 
to  desist. 

"Is  n't  it  wonderful !"  panted  Evans,  as  they 
drew  in  their  steaming  horses. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  came  to  a  village  of 
low  mud  houses  and  from  a  peasant  who  was 
threshing  out  his  grain  with  a  patient  bullock — 
round  and  round  on  the  threshing  floor  exactly 
as  in  Bible  times — they  bought  for  breakfast  a 
dish  of  the  native  sour  milk  with  bread  and  de 
licious  grapes — all  for  a  few  piasters.  Then  they 
rested  for  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  shade  of  some 
olive  trees. 

"It 's  funny,"  reflected  Harold,  as  they  started 
on,  "I  feel  a  lot  better  than  I  did.  We  ought  to 
be  sad,  but — " 

"Must  be  these  grapes,"  laughed  McGreggor, 
who  was  still  eating.  "Say,  would  n't  it  be  great 
if  we  could  buy  such  grapes  in  Chicago  for  a  cent 
a  pound?" 

It  may  be  that  Jack  partook  too  freely  of  these 
delicious  purple  clusters  or  perhaps  it  was  the 
long  ride  across  the  parched  and  burning  plain, 
at  any  rate,  towards  evening,  he  complained  of 

378 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

feeling  badly  and  in  the  night  (which  they  passed 
in  a  wretched  hovel  of  another  mud  village)  he 
had  a  violent  chill. 

McGreggor  smiled  weakly  as  Harold  bent  over 
him  in  concern.  "Afraid  it 's  my  turn  to  be  laid 
up,  old  boy.  Don't  know  what 's  the  matter 
with  me,  but — I  feel  like — well,  I  never  felt  worse 
in  my  life." 

Jack's  distress  continued  and,  when  morning 
came,  he  found  himself  so  weak  that  he  could 
scarcely  sit  upon  his  horse.  Nor  could  he  eat  a 
mouthful. 

"Deeny  says  we  're  not  far  from  Damascus," 
said  Evans  encouragingly,  "so  if  you  can  only 
stick  it  out  for  a  few  hours— 

"Of  course  I  '11  stick  it  out,"  answered  Jack 
and,  shutting  his  teeth  with  dogged  determina 
tion,  he  rode  on  under  the  scorching  Syrian 
sun. 

Two  hours  later  they  reached  the  crest  of  a 
barren  hill  (it  was  near  this  point  that  Paul  on 
his  historic  journey  is  said  to  have  been  con 
verted)  and  here  there  burst  upon  them  a  view 
of  that  most  wonderful  and  ancient  city,  the 
pearl  of  the  East,  the  emerald  of  the  desert,  set 
in  its  wide  oasis  of  gardens  and  orchards,  watered 
by  the  golden-flowing  Barada,  that  pours  its 

^380 


fresh  mountain  life  into  the  sands,  so  that  Da 
mascus  may  be  ever  young. 

McGreggor  brightened  at  the  beauty  of  this 
scene  and  was  stirred  to  real  enthusiasm  a  little 
later,  as  they  rode  along,  when  there  was  pre 
sented  to  them  a  most  extraordinary  natural  phe 
nomenon,  a  violent  thunder  storm  with  heavy 
rain  and  vivid  zig-zags  of  lightning  that  broke 
over  one  half  of  the  distant  city  while  the  other 
half,  with  its  domes  and  minarets,  flashed  dry 
and  smiling  in  the  sun. 

This  improvement  in  Jack's  feelings  was  only 
temporary,  however,  and  as  they  entered  the  out 
skirts  of  the  city,  where  the  air  was  heavy  with 
the  perfume  of  orange  groves  and  pomegranate 
orchards,  the  boy  had  no  thought  for  this  spread 
of  color  and  luscious  fruit,  he  had  no  more 
strength  or  buoyancy,  but  was  filled  with  a  sick 
ening  sense  of  helplessness  and  impending  dis 
aster.  As  Harold  watched  his  companion  he 
recalled  with  dismay  Dr.  Evans's  prophetic 
words  that  John  McGreggor  was  to  suffer  a  seri 
ous  illness  in  Damascus. 

This  prophecy  was  destined  to  be  only  too  well 
fulfilled.  Jack's  illness  increased  rapidly  with 
symptoms  of  nausea  and  fever  and,  by  evening 
(after  they  had  established  themselves  in  a  pleas- 

381 


IN  DAMASCUS 

ant  little  inn,  built  around  a  flowering  courtyard 
and  flashing  fountain)  the  boy's  condition  was 
so  alarming  that  Harold  called  in  the  inn-keeper, 
a  voluble  Greek  named  Dmitri  who  insisted  upon 
summoning  a  doctor. 

Now  began  an  anxious  time  for  Harold,  a 
period  of  three  weeks  that  was  worse  than  any 
thing  he  had  suffered  on  the  whole  journey.  His 
friend  was  stricken  with  one  of  the  bad  fevers 
that  infest  the  Syrian  coast  and  often  penetrate 
inland.  Days  must  pass  before  Jack  would  be 
out  of  danger  and  weeks  before  he  could  be  moved. 
Meantime  he  must  have  careful  nursing  with  a 
doctor  in  daily  attendance.  Fortunately  this 
doctor  was  a  Scotchman  named  MacDonald,  a 
cheery  little  man  with  bald  head  and  twinkling 
blue  eyes,  who,  when  he  learned  that  the  boys 
were  in  financial  trouble,  refused  to  take  a  penny 
for  his  services,  especially  from  a  patient  bearing 
a  name  so  honored  among  Highlanders  as  Mc- 
Greggor. 

Sandy's  first  move  the  next  morning  was  to 
make  inquiries  about  Abdul  Pasha,  his  father's 
devoted  friend,  whose  influence  was  now  to  work 
wonders  for  them,  as  soon  as  he  should  behold 
the  precious  ring  that  had  been  brought  here 
with  so  much  difficulty.  Alas  for  these  bright 

383 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

hopes !  Within  an  hour  Harold  learned  ( from 
no  less  a  person  than  the  American  Consul)  that 
this  once  rich  and  powerful  nobleman  had  fallen 
into  serious  disfavor  with  the  ruling  Turkish 
party  and  a  few  months  before  Abdul  Pasha  had 
been  arrested  on  a  charge  of  treason  and  con 
demned  to  prison.  His  great  possessions  had 
been  confiscated  and  he  himself  was  now  lan 
guishing  in  a  dungeon  at  Alexandretta. 

This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  Harold,  but  he  re 
solved  to  keep  the  bad  news  from  Jack,  at  least 
until  he  was  strong  enough  to  bear  it. 

Meantime,  by  husbanding  their  little  store  of 
gold,  the  boy  was  able  to  meet  the  expenses  of  the 
first  week,  just  barely,  and,  for  the  second  week 
the  faithful  Nasr-ed-Din  found,  somehow,  what 
was  necessary;  but,  after  that,  the  situation 
loomed  black  before  them.  What  could  they  do? 
The  inn-keeper  must  be  paid.  Food  must  be  pro 
vided,  in  fact  the  sick  boy  must  have  delicacies 
and  expensive  medicines.  And  their  money  was 
gone — to  the  last  shilling. 

These  were  days  when  Sandy  Evans  had  need 
of  all  his  courage.  For  hours  he  would  walk 
through  the  narrow  and  crooked  streets  of  this 
picturesque  city,  then  out  along  the  high  mud 
walls  that  border  teeming  orchards  of  apricots, 

384 


IN  DAMASCUS 

plums,  peaches,  walnuts  and  oranges.     And  all 
the  time  as  he  idly  watched  the  squirrels  and  lis- 


Narrow  street  in  Damascus. 

tened  to  the  woodpeckers,  he  would  be  thinking 
what  he  could  do  to  save  the  situation.  What 
could  he  do?  He  must  do  something,  but  what? 
If  he  could  only  have  taken  counsel  with  Jack, 

385 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

but  the  doctor's  orders  forbade  this — Jack  must 
not  be  troubled  under  any  circumstances — his 
fever  was  at  its  crisis  now  and  much  of  the  time 
the  poor  lad  was  in  delirium. 

So  the  responsibility  rested  on  Harold  alone. 
Should  he  go  to  the  American  Consul  and  ask 
for  help,  laying  the  whole  case  before  him? 
More  than  once  he  was  on  the  point  of  doing  this, 
but  desisted  when  he  recalled  his  mother's  com 
mand  that  he  keep  their  troubles  secret  from  the 
authorities,  lest  greater  troubles  come.  Evans 
remembered  also  that  Basil  had  given  him  a  sim 
ilar  warning  and  he  found  himself  beset  by  fears, 
especially  at  night,  when  he  thought  of  the  power 
ful  and  unknown  enemies  who  had  struck  at  his 
father  and  his  mother  and  might  now,  at  any  mo 
ment,  strike  at  himself  and  his  sick  friend.  No 
doubt  it  was  these  same  enemies  who  had  seized 
Abdul  Pasha  and  cast  him  into  prison.  If  they 
could  so  wreak  their  vengeance  upon  a  rich  noble 
man,  a  native  of  the  country,  what  might  they 
not  do  to  two  boys,  strangers  and  defenseless? 

So  from  day  to  day  Harold  waited,  facing  their 
trouble  alone,  hoping,  praying  that  some  way  out 
of  their  difficulties  might  be  shown  to  him.  He 
felt  sure  that  some  way  would  be  shown  to  him — 
it  was  unbelievable  that  all  the  faith  and  brave 

386 


IN  DAMASCUS 

efforts  of  his  father  and  mother,  all  their  good 
works  through  years  should  go  for  nothing  and 
that  God  would  desert  them  now  in  their  greatest 
need.  Morning  and  night  the  boy  knelt  down 
and  asked  for  guidance  and  light,  asked  that  his 
faith  might  be  strengthened  like  his  mother's 
faith  and  his  father's  faith  so  that  nothing  could 
stand  against  it.  Many  times  his  mother  had  as 
sured  him,  with  a  beautiful  light  in  her  eyes,  that 
faith  could  move  mountains  and,  as  he  thought 
over  recent  events,  as  he  remembered  the  pyra 
mid,  the  catacombs  and  Mar  Saba,  Sandy  saw 
how  true  this  was — the  mountains  had  indeed 
moved  to  deliver  them  from  evil — and  he  prayed 
with  all  his  soul  for  this  wonderful  faith  that 
would  make  the  mountains  move  again. 


387 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   MOUNTAINS   MOVE 

AT  the  end  of  the  third  week  Dr.  McDonald 
pronounced  Jack  out  of  danger  and  entered 
upon  his  convalescence,  but  said  that  the  boy 
must  not  think  of  leaving  the  inn  for  a  fortnight. 
And  he  must  have  tempting  food,  anything  that 
appealed  to  his  appetite  so  that  his  strength 
might  be  built  up  quickly.  This  prescription 
pleased  McGreggor  immensely  and  he  proceeded 
to  order  the  most  expensive  things  on  the  bill  of 
fare,  roast  partridge  twice  a  day  and  ice-cream 
without  limit.  Poor  boy,  he  had  no  idea  that 
they  were  already  hopelessly  indebted  to  Dmitri 
who  was  giving  them  their  last  days  of  grum 
bling  credit  at  the  persuasion  of  the  doctor. 

"Say,  old  boy,"  Jack  broke  out  suddenly  one 
evening  after  finishing  his  second  partridge,  "it 's 
just  struck  me  that — we  must  be  spending  a  lot 
of  money  here  ?  How  do  we  work  it  ?  I  thought 
we  were  broke  ?" 

388 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

"Why — er,"  answered  Sandy  trying  to  smile, 
"you  see  I — oh,  I  Ve  just  managed." 

"Just  managed  ?  Say,  you  're  a  wonder ! 
Here  I  Ve  been  living  like  a  prince  of  the  blood 
— T  never  tasted  such  partridges."  He  was  si 
lent  a  moment,  then  a  broad  grin  spread  over  his 
face.  "Oh,  I  know!  I  see!  Clever  boy! 
You  Ve  worked  that  magic  ring  again — seen  his 
nobs  Abdul  what  Vhis-name  and  made  him 
cough  up.  Am  I  right?" 

"Abdul  Pasha?  Well — er — I  went  to  his 
house,"  admitted  Sandy,  evading  the  question 
for  the  moment.  He  did  not  wish  to  make  Mc- 
Greggor  unhappy,  but  he  felt  that  their  prodigal 
period  of  roast  partridge  and  ice-cream  was  about 
over. 

Evans  went  out  for  a  walk  in  a  desperate  mood. 
A  glimpse  of  the  inn-keeper's  frowning  face 
made  it  clear  that  something  must  be  done  im 
mediately  to  avert  serious  consequences  and  Har 
old  was  considering  the  advisability  of  cabling 
for  assistance  to  Jack's  father,  even  at  the  risk 
of  revealing  the  whole  truth  to  the  authorities, 
when  suddenly — 

"Hello,"  he  said  to  himself  and  stood  staring 
before  him.  He  had  turned  into  the  famous 
'Street-that-is-called-Straight'  (which  is  really 

389 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

not  straight  at  all)  and  immediately  he  saw  over 
an  imposing  door-way  two  flags  on  which  flut 
tered  two  formidable  black  eagles.  Black  ea 
gles!  As  Harold  moved  on  he  came  to  other 
flags  flying  from  windows  and  house-tops  and 
bearing,  each  one  of  them,  the  same  grim  em 
blem.  Black  eagles  over  the  wide  bazaars  where 
cross-legged  Moslems  cry  their  silks  and  sword 
blades!  Black  eagles  on  the  walls  of  the  city 
whence  Paul  descended  in  a  basket!  Black  ea 
gles  before  the  leper  hospital  where  once  stood  the 
house  of  Naaman !  Black  eagles  at  the  doors  of 
the  great  mosque  where  the  head  of  John  the 
Baptist,  so  they  say,  is  preserved  in  a  golden  cas 
ket. 

What  did  it  mean — all  these  black  eagles? 
What  did  it  mean  for  him?  The  boy  walked 
back  to  the  inn,  stunned  by  the  strangeness  of 
this  happening.  His  father,  under  the  olive 
tree,  had  seen  black  eagles  in  Damascus — here 
they  were !  His  father,  under  the  olive  tree,  had 
seen  John  McGreggor  ill  in  Damascus — it  was 
true!  These  eagles  were  a  sign — for  him — 
there  was  no  mistaking  it — a  sign  connected  with 
his  mother.  But  what  was  the  meaning  of  this 
sign?  What  must  he  do? 

Through  much  of  the  following  night  Harold 

390 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

thought  and  prayed  and,  towards  the  dawn,  a 
great  peace  possessed  him.  He  knew  that  every 
thing  was  coming  out  right,  he  did  not  know  how 
he  knew  this,  but  he  fell  asleep  in  the  firm  confi 
dence  that  the  hour  of  their  deliverance  was  at 
hand.  He  was  soon  to  see  his  father  and  his 
mother — he  knew  it. 

Evans  was  awakened,  a  few  hours  later,  by  a 
blare  of  trumpets  outside  his  windows,  and, 
presently,  a  long  line  of  Turkish  soldiers  in  gala 
dress  of  red  and  blue  came  marching  past  to  the 
inspiring  music  of  a  military  band.  After  them 
came  a  splendid  cavalry  company  in  green  and 
gold  on  snow  white  horses,  then  another  company 
on  black  horses,  then  more  foot  soldiers  and  an 
other  military  band. 

"Say,  what 's  broken  loose,  Sandy?"  asked 
Jack,  who  had  hobbled  in  his  pajamas  to  see  the 
show.  "What  are  all  those  flags  with  black  ea 
gles  on  'em  for?" 

"Guess  they  're  celebrating  your  recovery, 
old  boy,"  laughed  Evans.  He  was  quite 
happy  because  he  knew  their  troubles  were  at 
an  end. 

A  little  later  Harold  set  forth  in  the  eager  and 
trusting  spirit  of  a  child  who  has  been  promised 
something  wonderful,  but  has  no  idea  what  the 

391 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

wonderful  something  is,  nor  where  nor  how  it  is 
to  come. 

The  whole  city  had  put  on  holiday  attire,  flags 
were  flying  everywhere,  soldiers  parading  every 
where,  and  the  streets  were  crowded  with  people 


Turkish  cavalry. 

wearing  all  the  costumes  of  the  East  and  chat 
tering  excitedly  about  some  great  event  that  had 
evidently  inspired  them  with  pride  and  joy.  A 
chance  meeting  with  Dr.  McDonald,  near  the 
house  of  Ananias,  the  high  priest,  gave  Evans  a 
key  to  the  mystery. 

392 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 


Arrival  of  the  Emperor. 


"Don't  you  know  what  this  is?"  said  the  doc 
tor.  "Did  n't  they  tell  you?  Why,  the  Emperor 
is  here — just  arrived  this  morning.  He  's  go- 

393 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

ing  to  hold  a  grand  reception  and  he  leaves  to 
morrow  for  Baalbec." 

For  a  moment  Harold  thought  the  doctor  was 
referring  to  the  Turkish  Emperor,  the  Sultan, 
but  he  presently  understood  that  it  was  a  far 
greater  ruler  than  he  who  had  honored  Damascus 
with  his  presence.  This  was  the  great  Christian 
Emperor,  the  most  powerful  potentate  of  Eu 
rope,  who,  with  much  pomp  and  ceremony,  was 
making  a  tour  of  the  Holy  Land.  It  was  in  his 
honor  that  black  eagles  were  flying  over  Da 
mascus. 

Harold  could  hardly  speak  for  emotion.  The 
great  Emperor!  He  thanked  the  doctor  and 
hurried  along,  his  head  in  a  whirl.  And  yet  he 
understood  what  was  before  him.  It  was  clear 
enough  now.  His  mother  and  his  father  were 
to  be  saved  somehow  by  this  Emperor.  But  how  ? 
The  Emperor  could  not  save  them  unless  he  knew 
all  about  them  and  he  could  not  know  about  them 
unless  Harold  told  him.  So  it  was  evidently  nec 
essary  that  Sandy  Evans  have  a  heart  to  heart 
talk  with  the  most  powerful  potentate  in  Europe. 

"Hm!"  reflected  Harold.  "Looks  as  if  I'm 
getting  in  with  some  pretty  classy  people." 

The  more  he  pondered  this  the  more  Evans  felt 
that  here  was  his  only  chance.  They  were  liter- 

394 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

ally  at  the  end  of  their  resources,  stranded  in  a 
foreign  land,  without  friends,  and  they  were  re 
sponsible  for  two  precious  lives.  It  might  not  be 
according  to  etiquette  for  a  vagabond  boy  to  call 
upon  an  emperor,  but  this  was  a  case  of  desperate 
necessity — let  etiquette  go  hang. 

Strong  in  this  resolve,  Harold  sought  out  the 
American  Consul  and,  in  a  guarded  way,  ex 
plained  his  desire  to  have  an  interview  with  the 
Emperor.  The  American  Consul  laughed  at  the 
boy  and  showed  him  the  utter  absurdity  of  seek 
ing  what  had  been  refused  to  hundreds  of  rich 
and  influential  persons.  The  American  Consul 
himself  could  not  get  an  interview  with  the  Em 
peror,  if  he  were  foolish  enough  to  ask  for  it. 

"That 's  all  right,  sir,"  said  Harold,  biting  his 
lips  in  perplexity,  "but"-— he  took  a  deep  breath 
and  squared  his  shoulders,  "I  'm  going  to  get  that 
interview  just  the  same.  I  Ve  got  to  get  it." 

By  dint  of  searching  and  questioning  Harold 
ascertained  that  the  Emperor's  reception  was  to 
be  held  that  afternoon  between  three  and  four 
o'clock  at  the  palatial  home  of  the  military  gov 
ernor  of  Damascus  whose  duty  it  was,  as  the 
Sultan's  representative,  to  entertain  the  imperial 
guest.  But  when  Harold  attempted  to  approach 
this  house  he  found  that  the  streets  leading  to  it 

395 


were  barred  by  soldiers  for  a  block  in  either  di 
rection.  No  one  was  allowed  to  pass  without  a 
personal  card  or  invitation.  And  these  invita 
tions  were  not  to  be  had  for  love  or  money. 

Evans  went  back  to  the  inn  and  took  counsel 
with  Deeny.  The  big"  Turk  must  find  some  way 
of  gaining  admittance  for  Harold  into  the  house 
where  the  Emperor  was  staying.  This  was  ab 
solutely  necessary,  the  welfare  of  the  whole- 
Evans  family  depended  on  it.  Nasr-ed-Din  sa 
luted  solemnly  from  the  eyes,  from  the  lips,  from 
the  heart,  and  went  away,  bidding  the  boy  wait 
for  him.  In  serving  the  interests  of  the  Evans 
family  there  was  nothing  that  Nasr-ed-Din  would 
stop  at  and  Harold  knew  it. 

It  was  about  half  past  one  when  Deeny  left 
the  inn  on  this  delicate  and  difficult  mission  and 
immediately,  such  was  Harold's  confidence  in  a 
favorable  outcome,  the  boy  began  to  consider 
what  he  should  wear  at  his  interview  with  the 
Emperor.  As  a  matter  of  fact  his  choice  was 
sadly  limited  by  the  scantiness  of  their  combined 
wardrobe,  but  by  borrowing  a  dark  coat  and  a 
clean  shirt  from  McGreggor  and  by  blackening 
his  tan  shoes,  Sandy  managed  to  give  himself  a 
presentable  appearance.  As  he  dressed,  with  the 
greatest  care,  he  confided  to  Jack's  astonished 

396 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

ears  the  whole  truth  touching  their  bankrupt  con 
dition  together  with  his  plan  for  saving  the  situa 
tion.  He  declared  with  the  utmost  confidence 
that  their  troubles  were  practically  over. 

"But,  my  dear  Sandy,  you  're  crazy,"  declared 
McGreggor.  "You  '11  never  get  anywhere  near 
the  Emperor.  And  if  you  do,  they  '11  chuck  you 
out  so  fast  and  so  hard  that— 

"Wait !"  interrupted  Evans.  "How  about 
that  moving-picture  scheme?  It  was  your  idea, 
was  n't  it  ?  And  I  said  it  was  crazy,  did  n't  I  ? 
And  it  \vas  n't  crazy.  It  was  a  bully  idea. 
Well?" 

"Yes,  but  an  emperor  's  different,  Sandy,  the 
swellest  emperor  there  is — you  can't  walk  in  on 
an  emperor  like  that  and  say:  'Hello,  Emperor, 
I  'm  broke,'  you  can't  do  it." 

"Give  me  that  shirt  and  I  '11  show  you  if  I  can't 
do  it.  W7hy  I  'd  walk  in  on  ten  emperors  to  get 
my  father  and  my  mother  back  and  don't  you 
forget  it." 

At  half  past  two  Nasr-ed-Din  returned  and, 
with  show  of  mystery,  beckoned  Harold  to  fol 
low  him.  Jack's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  do  this  thing?"  he 
asked. 

"I  'm  going  to  try,"  said  Sandy.     "If  anything 

397 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

happens  to  me — why — you  '11  have  to  cable  to 
your  father.  Good-by,  Jack." 

McGreggor  looked  fixedly  at  his  friend  and 
there  came  into  his  eyes  something  suspiciously 
like  moisture. 

"Good  luck,  old  boy,  and — and—  '  he  choked 
up  with  emotion,  then  he  blurted  out:  "Say, 
you  're  the  finest,  pluckiest  fellow  I  ever  knew." 

As  they  passed  out  into  the  street  Harold  asked 
Nasr-ed-Din  to  wait  a  minute  while  he  made  a 
small  purchase  at  a  shop  next  to  the  inn.  It  was 
a  pair  of  gloves,  which  seemed  to  him  desirable  as 
a  last  touch  to  his  costume.  A  boy  ought  to  wear 
gloves,  he  reflected,  when  he  meets  an  emperor 
and,  having  selected  a  pair  of  bright  yellow  ones, 
Sandy  asked  the  shop-keeper,  in  his  grandest 
manner,  to  kindly  have  this  trifling  bill  sent  to 
him  at  the  inn.  The  shop-keeper  bowed  respect 
fully. 

Again  they  set  forth  but  presently  it  began  to 
rain  and  Harold  sent  Deeny  back  to  the  inn  to 
borrow  an  umbrella.  A  boy  must  keep  his 
clothes  dry  when  he  is  about  to  meet  an  emperor. 

Finally  they  made  their  real  start  and  Harold 
found  that  Nasr-ed-Din  had  hit  upon  a  very  sim 
ple  wray  of  introducing  him  into  the  house  w7here 
the  reception  was  to  take  place.  Back  of  this 

398 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

house  stretched  gardens  surrounded  by  high 
stone  walls  which  at  several  points  abutted 
against  neighboring  houses.  These  latter  were 
built  with  the  customary  flat  roofs  and  with  stone 


Flat  Roofs  of  Turkish  houses. 

steps  on  the  outside,  for  Syrian  housetops  are 
still  used  as  sleeping  places  at  night  and  gather 
ing  places  by  day,  just  as  in  Bible  times.  It 
was,  therefore,  an  easy  matter  to  pass  from  one 
roof  to  another  (the  houses  being  close  together) 
and  finally  reach  the  gardens  of  the  house  where 

399 


Deeny  lowers  Harold  over  the  wall. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

the  Emperor  was.  This  being  accomplished, 
Deeny  lowered  his  young  master  over  the  wall 
and,  with  a  final  word  of  caution  and  a  prayer 
that  Allah  would  bless  his  purposes,  left  the  boy 
to  work  out  his  own  salvation. 

For  a  few  moments  Harold  paused  in  the  shel 
ter  of  a  friendly  sycamore-tree  and  smoothed 
out  the  disorder  of  his  garments,  then,  muster 
ing  all  his  courage,  he  advanced  towards  the 
house. 

It  happened  that  at  this  moment  the  guests 
were  arriving  rapidly  so  that  the  courtyard  was 
well  filled  and,  as  the  gardens  opened  directly 
into  this  courtyard,  Evans  presently  found  him 
self  in  a  gathering  of  important  personages  of 
many  nationalities  who  had  been  bidden  to  the 
ceremony  and  who  paid  not  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  this  young  American,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  they  were  all  more  or  less  flustered  at  the  or 
deal  before  them.  This  was  the  first  time,  in  the 
memory  of  the  oldest  dignitary,  that  Damascus 
had  been  honored  by  the  visit  of  a  European 
sovereign. 

The  courtyard  was  of  white  marble  and  at  one 
side,  under  a  golden  canopy,  rose  broad  steps 
covered  with  crimson  carpet  and  flanked  by 
golden  standards  bearing  black  eagles.  Harold 

401 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 


A  rich  house  in  Damascus. 

saw  that  the  company  were  slowly  ascending 
these  steps  and,  following  along,  he  came  into  a 
great  white  and  gold  room  hung  with  red  cur 
tains. 

402 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

In  this  room  perhaps  forty  or  fifty  men  were 
waiting  while  others  streamed  in  constantly  from 
the  courtyard.  Many  of  them  wore  gorgeous 
uniforms  with  swords  at  their  sides,  some  were 
in  evening  dress  with  red  and  blue  sashes  across 
their  shirt  fronts  and  glistening  stars  and  medals 
pinned  upon  their  breasts.  These  were  the  rep 
resentatives  of  great  European  powers,  but  there 
were  some  in  plain  black  coats  and  there  were 
many  white-turbaned  Orientals  in  flowing  and 
flaming  garments.  All  of  these  were  moving 
along  in  a  single  line  that  \vas  feeding  on  steadily 
towards  a  slightly  raised  platform  (guarded  by 
black  eagles)  upon  which  a  man  of  kingly  mien 
was  standing. 

Harold's  heart  almost  stopped  as  he  realized 
that  he  was  actually  in  the  presence  of  the  Em 
peror.  And  it  came  to  him  with  a  shock  that  he 
was  carrying  a  cheap  cotton  umbrella,  dripping 
with  rain.  In  an  agony  of  embarrassment  the 
boy  looked  about  him  and,  perceiving  an  im 
mense  porcelain  vase  that  stood  five  feet  above 
the  floor,  he  edged  over  to  it  and,  choosing  his 
moment,  he  slipped  the  despised  umbrella  into  this 
costly  receptacle  and  left  it  there.  The  inn 
keeper  who  had  loaned  it  might  charge  it  on  his 
bill. 

403 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

Relieved  of  this  incumbrance  and  pleased  with 
the  effect  of  his  yellow  gloves,  Harold  now  took 
his  place  at  the  end  of  the  line  and  awaited  de 
velopments.  Directly  in  front  of  him  was  a  little 
Austrian  in  a  brown  wig  who  was  really  an 
important  railway  administrator  but  did  not 
look  important.  Harold  breathed  more  easily. 
Nothing  had  happened  to  him  yet. 

As  the  line  advanced  Evans  began  to  plan 
what  he  should  say  when  he  reached  the  em 
peror.  How  would  he  begin?  Should  he  say 
"Sire"  or  "Your  majesty,"  or  "Your  imperial 
highness"  or  what?  He  must  say  something  to 
create  a  good  impression,  for  of  course  the  em 
peror  would  not  know  him.  What  should  he 
say? 

With  anxious  eyes  Sandy  studied  the  line  ahead 
of  him,  hoping  to  find  some  suggestion  in  the  be 
havior  of  the  others ;  but,  as  far  as  he  could  see, 
all  that  they  did  was  to  bend  over  the  emperor's 
extended  hand  and  kiss  it  with  mumbled  words 
and  pass  on.  Harold  knew  that,  when  his  turn 
came,  he  must  do  more  than  this.  But  what  ? 

The  line  moved  on  and  now  the  young  Ameri 
can  was  only  twenty  places  from  the  emperor. 
He  could  see  the  ruler's  eyes  flashing  with  stern 
dignity  and  suddenly  the  boy's  heart  sank.  He 

404 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

saw  that  he  was  in  a  false  position — he  was  an 
intruder,  who  had  stolen  in  here  like  a  thief  and— 
he  might  be  taken  for  a  spy  or  an  anarchist- 
he  might  be  put  in  prison. 

The  line  moved  on  and  Harold's  eyes  were 
fixed  defiantly  on  two  burly  guards  who  might 
at  any  moment,  he  realized,  be  ordered  to  seize 
him.  Very  well,  let  them  try  it.  He  had  done 
nothing  he  was  ashamed  of  and,  after  all,  he  was 
an  American  citizen.  He  would  hold  his  head 
high  and,  whatever  happened,  he  would  not  kiss 
the  Emperor's  hand.  No  sir !  They  could  throw 
him  out  or  do  what  they  pleased  to  him,  but  when 
it  came  to  kissing  a  man's  hand— 

At  this  moment  Harold  realized  that  the 
brown-wigged  Austrian  before  him  was  bob 
bing  up  and  down  most  comically  and  a  second 
later  the  young  American  found  himself  in  the 
great  presence — face  to  face  with  the  Emperor. 

Just  how  things  happened  after  this  Harold 
could  never  exactly  remember.  He  spoke  in 
English,  and  came  forward  like  the  boy  on  the 
burning  deck  with  such  a  look  in  his  eyes,  at  once 
brave  and  pleading,  that  this  august  ruler  of  mil 
lions  (who  had  been  excessively  bored  by  the 
proceedings)  was  immediately  interested. 

"You  're  an  American  ?"  asked  the  Emperor  in 
405 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

perfect  English  with  a  quizzical  smile  at  the  half 
defiant  young  face. 

"Yes,  your — your  honor,"  stumbled  Harold. 
"My  father  is  a  missionary — Wicklow  Evans- 
he  's  in  terrible  trouble  and — my  mother — in 
Cairo — she  was  stolen  away  and — I  came  here  to 
see  Abdul  Pasha  but — "  He  was  crowding  as 
much  as  he  could  into  the  first  sentence. 

"Not  so  fast!  You  say  your  father  is 
Wicklow  Evans — the  missionary  who  disap 
peared?" 

"Yes,  your  majesty,  but  we  found  him  at  Mar 
Saba  only — we  were  captured  and — I  had  a  ring 
and — then  we  scared  'em  with  a  moving-picture 
machine  and — " 

Here  the  governor  of  the  city,  purple-faced  at 
this  audacity,  stepped  forward  quickly  and 
checked  the  boy's  tumbling  words.  One  glance 
showed  Harold  what  his  fate  might  be  if  this 
angry  official  decided  it. 

"Sire,  this  fellow  is  an  impostor.  He  has  no 
right  here.  We  will  take  him  away,"  cried  the 
governor,  but  the  Emperor  waved  him  back. 
This  was  an  amusing  diversion,  besides  the  great 
protestant  sovereign  was  well  informed  touching 
the  tragic  mystery  of  Wicklow  Evans.  And 
there  was  such  compelling  honesty  and  fearless- 

406 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

ness  in  this  boy's  face  that  even  the  great  ruler 
of  men  felt  a  thrill  of  admiration. 

"Let  him  wait  in  the  next  room,"  was  the  im 
perial  order,  then  to  Harold :  "I  believe  you  're 
an  honest  lad.  I  will  hear  your  story  when 
these  people  have  gone." 

The  look  that  accompanied  these  words  was 
so  encouraging  that  Harold's  heart  bounded 
with  joy,  then  his  face  flushed  in  shame  as  he  re 
membered  that  he  had  come  into  this  splendid 
presence  with  arrogance  and  suspicion.  He  had 
refused  to  kiss  the  Emperor's  hand  and  now  this 
great  ruler,  instead  of  having  him  thrown  out 
and  punished,  as  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  do, 
had  been  kind  to  him  and  protected  him. 

"I  'm  a  cheeky  little  fool,"  thought  Sandy. 
"I  ought  to  be  kicked.  I — I—  Then,  in  a 
swift  surging  of  gratitude,  he  resolved  that  now 
he  would  kiss  the  Emperor's  hand.  "I  '11  kiss 
it  if  it — if  it 's  the  last  thing  I  do,"  and,  straight 
way,  the  boy  made  an  awkward  duck  of  the  head 
in  this  intention,  but  the  Emperor  stopped  him. 

"No,  my  young  friend,"  he  smiled.  "In 
America  you  don't  believe  in  that  sort  of  thing. 
Come,  we  '11  shake  hands."  Whereupon  the 
greatest  autocrat  on  earth  gave  Sandy  Evans  his 
hand  in  a  strong  and  friendly  clasp. 

407 


Harold  meets  the  Emperor. 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Emperor  heard  Har 
old's  story,  listened  to  every  detail  of  this  mys 
terious  chronicle  from  the  moment  of  Dr.  Evans's 
disappearance  the  year  before,  and  he  marveled 
at  the  spiritual  power  that  had  brought  these 
things  to  pass.  Also  he  was  stirred  to  right 
eous  anger  at  the  cruelty  and  wickedness  of  the 
Old  Turk  party  that  had  taken  such  desperate 
steps  to  stop  the  spread  of  Christianity  in  the 
Adana  region.  Swift  orders  followed  Harold's 
revelation.  Jack  McGreggor  was  questioned, 
Nasr-ed-Din  was  questioned  and,  before  night,  at 
the  sovereign's  peremptory  command,  cable  mes 
sages  in  the  state  cipher  were  flashing  to  the 
Sultan  in  Constantinople,  wrere  flashing  to  the 
Khedive  in  Cairo,  while  a  picked  company  of 
soldiers  \vere  speeding  over  the  plain  toward  the 
robber's  haunt  in  the  Lebanon.  Wicklow  Evans 
and  all  his  belongings  was  to  be  brought  to 
Damascus  immediately  and  let  any  one  beware 
who  harmed  a  hair  of  his  head — this  by  order  of 
the  governor  of  Damascus,  who  was  himself  in 
a  frenzy  of  fear. 

That  is  about  all  there  is  to  say.  Ten  days 
later  (so  swiftly  do  things  happen  when  the 
rulers  of  the  earth  really  wish  them  to  happen), 

409 


there  was  another  reception  at  the  governor's 
house  and  this  time  the  guest  of  honor  was  an 
American  missionary  honored  the  world  over, 
Wicklow  Evans.  At  his  side  stood  Harold  and 
Jack  and  Nasr-ed-Din  and  before  them,  with 
respectful  salutations,  passed  the  notables  of 
Damascus,  including  the  American  consul,  Dr. 
MacDonald,  and  Dmitri,  the  inn-keeper,  vastly 
pleased  over  the  settlement  in  full  (by  the  gov 
ernor)  of  his  little  bill — for  roast  partridges,  ice 
cream  and  other  things. 

And  presently,  after  the  guests  had  departed, 
the  governor  himself  drew  aside  the  red  curtains 
(the  black  eagles  had  long  since  flown  away  to 
their  native  capitol)  and,  with  ceremonious  bow, 
ushered  in  the  sweet  lady,  trembling  with  joy, 
whose  radiant  faith  had  made  these  things  pos 
sible. 

"Mother!"  cried  Harold. 

"Mary!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Evans. 

"My  husband !  My  boy !"  she  murmured  and 
John  McGreggor  declared  afterwards  that  a  mov 
ing-picture  of  this  scene  would  have  been  worth 
five  hundred  dollars — easy. 

After  the  first  excitement  of  reunion  came  a 
torrent  of  questions.  Where  had  Mrs.  Evans 
been  all  this  time  ?  Had  she  been  treated  cruelly  ? 

410 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

Where  was  she  hidden  that  day  at  the  pyramid 
when  she  telegraphed  to  the  boys  through  the 
rock?  Had  she  been  able  to  see  them  at  that 
moment?  How  had  she  been  rescued? 

The  explanation  was  very  simple.  Mrs. 
Evans  had  been  in  Cairo,  a  prisoner,  although 
kindly  treated.  She  had  been  set  at  liberty  on 
orders  from  "higher  up."  When  first  taken,  that 
day  at  the  pyramid,  she  had  telegraphed  to  the 
boys  from  a  rock  tomb  whence  she  could  see  them, 
although  she  dared  not  cry  out.  As  to  her  ex 
periences,  no  one  had  wished  to  do  Mrs.  Evans 
any  bodily  harm.  It  was  the  fanatical  spirit  of 
the  Old  Turks  (as  distinguished  from  the  more 
advanced  attitude  of  the  Young  Turk  party 
which  included  enlightened  men  like  Abdul 
Pasha),  that  had  sought  to  dim  and  smother 
the  light  of  the  Gospel  by  preventing  this  de 
termined  woman  from  carrying  on  her  work  at 
Adana.  Since  she  and  her  husband  could  not 
be  frightened  into  abandoning  the  missionary 
field  they  would  be  forced  to  abandon  it — this  was 
the  Moslem  purpose. 

"They  treated  me  well  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Evans.  "I  had  a  small  apartment  to  myself  with 
servants  to  wait  on  me  and  a  garden  to  walk  in, 
but — I  was  a  prisoner.  I  might  have  gone  free 

411 


THE  LAND  OF  MYSTERY 

at  any  time  if  I  would  have  promised  to  go  back 
to  America  and  stay  there,  but,  of  course— 

"My  brave  wife !"  murmured  Wicklow  Evans. 

"I  call  that  pretty  good  nerve,"  admired  Mc- 
Greggor.  "Say,  you  ought  to  tell  your  adven 
tures — in  vaudeville.  You  could  make — " 

"Jack !     You  goat !"  reproved  Harold. 

"They  could — they  could  make  a  thousand  dol 
lars  a  week — with  our  moving-pictures — easy." 

Mrs.  Evans  laughed  happily.  "It  would  be 
nice  to  make  all  that  money,  but  we  have  other 
plans — haven't  we,  dear?"  she  turned  joyfully 
to  her  husband. 

"Yes,"  said  the  missionary  gravely.  "The 
Turkish  authorities  have  offered  us  a  handsome 
indemnity  for  what  we  have  suffered.  They  re 
quest  that  we  return  to  America,  but  they  do  not 
refuse  us  the  privilege  of  continuing  our  work  at 
Aclana,  if  we  go  there  at  our  own  risk.  That 
part  of  Asia  Minor  is  much  disturbed  just  now, 
and  there  is  danger  of  fresh  massacres.  What 
do  you  think  we  ought  to  do,  Harold?" 

"Yes,  what  do  you  think  we  ought  to  do,  my 
boy?"  asked  the  mother. 

Harold  looked  at  her  fondly,  proudly,  then  at 
his  father.  "It  does  n't  matter  what  I  think,"  he 
answered.  "I  know  what  you  're  going  to  do 

412 


THE  MOUNTAINS  MOVE 

and — I  guess  it  's  right.  You  're  going  to  play 
the  game  out  and  take  chances  on  what  comes.'' 

"Massacres  or  no  massacres,"  added  Jack 
thoughtfully. 

"You  're  going  back  to  Adana !"  said  Sandy 
Evans. 

"Yes,  my  son,  we  're  going  back  to  Adana." 


THE    END 


413 


A     000110781     2 


